


Stupefy

by Iridogorgia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's not quite this dark I promise, Molly is a Witch, On the Run, Oral Sex, Potterlock, Power Imbalance, Sex, molliarty - Freeform, semi-torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-08-06 06:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iridogorgia/pseuds/Iridogorgia
Summary: Molly tried to leave the Wizarding world behind, she really did.  When her supposed-to-be-very-dead ex boyfriend shows up on her couch, she’s sucked into an adventure she really, really doesn’t want with someone who really, really wants to kill her.  Or kiss her, he’s changeable that way.Molly x Jim, Post TFP





	1. Stupefy

**Author's Note:**

> Set post TFP, but based on the end-credit teaser, Jim Moriarty is alive.
> 
> Big shout out to ribcage, BurningLostStars, ll_again, TheBookishTea and Ridiculosity for helping me with this monster of a fic! It's..it's gonna be long.
> 
> The amazing BurningLostStars made me a cover!  
> http://whyimmathere.tumblr.com/post/179352513262/stupefy-by-iridogorgia-molly-tried-to-leave-the

As soon as she stepped into her flat, Molly knew something was wrong.

Nothing was out of place, but someone was _here_.  The air felt heavy, charged and she could almost taste ozone.

After the years and years of being friends with Sherlock, seeing the havoc that wrecked his life and those around him, she knew to keep her guard up.  Molly had a lifetime of fear layered over seven years of being at the top of Hogwarts’ dueling club, with a stint of being hunted by snatchers and then, well, Sherlock wasn’t exactly a safe person to have as an acquaintance.  She hadn’t needed to use her more specialized skills in over a decade, but some motions she remembered in her bones.

Silently, she slipped her shoes off and reached inside of the slim pocket sewn into all of her trousers, the one with a layered in Notice-Me-Not charm on it, to feel the smooth, familiar, carved willow handle of her wand.  Her magic hummed at her, reaching.

Pushing the door mostly closed, she stopped just before the knob latched into place.  Setting her purse down quietly next to her shoes, she kicked the strap out of the way in case she needed to run.

Sliding her feet along the linoleum, she put her back to the wall and reached out to find the light switch.

There, sitting neatly on her couch, petting her familiar, with his ankles crossed primly, was a very alive James Moriarty.

He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, a wave, and a jaunty, “Thanks for joining us, mousy!”

Her stupid dueling club instincts kicked in, she whipped her wand out and hissed, “ _Stupefy_!”  The red light hit him square in the chest and knocked his head against the wall above the couch.  The spell was a little too powerful for his stature, and he immediately tumbled bonelessly to the floor.

A bullet came whizzing through the window, leaving a hole in the pane of glass, and came within half an inch of blowing the side of Molly Hooper’s head off.

Cursing, she cast a silent Protego, praying it would hold hollow points at bay.  She ran through her list of defensive and offensive spells, and what would probably not kill the legion of mercenaries that were about to come through her front door.  And maybe every door. And window. Unless she could get to Toby and Apparate to the only place nobody would ever find her. Her bolthole, the place she’d designed to be completely cut off from the rest of the world.

She had a split second to make a decision, and her cat had jumped onto the back of the unconscious, undead criminal.

Hearing heavy boots come up the stairs, and thanking her lucky stars for her solid oak coffee table that would block the view of the floor from any snipers looking in through the window, Molly threw herself on Moriarty, grabbed his wrist and tucked Toby into the crook of her arm, and Apparated away with a resounding crack that plunged the building into darkness.

 

* * *

 

They landed in a heap on an almost uninhabited island in northern Scotland, between Burwick and John o’ Groats, and Molly prayed that the safe house she and her schoolmates had built was still standing as she pulled herself up.  Her foot ‘accidentally’ pushed Moriarty’s face into the mud. There was only one house on the entire island, so it hadn’t been hard to layer dozens of Notice-Me-Not, Muggle Repellent charms and Protego Totalums over one small acre near the rocky cliffs.  The Unplottable charm had been hard, but they’d managed. The safe, undetectable Apparition point had been tricky, but not impossible. More difficult were the wards that completely killed any magical signature from being detected from inside of them. That had been the foundation layer of their safe house, the absolute hardest thing and its success had set the tone for the rest of the frantic construction.  Between the five of them, they’d excelled at Charms.

She and four other fellow Muggleborn Hufflepuffs had built this small cottage in her fifth year, sneaking books on magical construction and protective wards out from under Madam Pince’s nose, and she was the only one still alive to use it.

The damn war had ruined everything.

Muttering an angry _Levicorpus_  to the man sprawled in the peat behind her, she stalked through the rain to the small, bright blue cottage in the distance, lamenting her lack of shoes.  Jim bobbed along unsteadily behind her. Molly told herself it was because of her unstable emotions and not her lack of practice.

Toby padded along at her side.  He was a quarter kneazle, so he barely looked different from a normal cat, but his intelligence was almost that of a half-kneazle, or so Molly proudly thought.  Right now, he kept looking with his lamp-like yellow eyes between her and Jim, silently asking why she didn’t just dump him over a cliff and be done with it.

She sighed as her bare foot squelched into a particularly terrible patch of rotting plant matter.  “Toby, I need to know why he was in my flat. What if he's after Sherlock again? What if he has another sniper on John or, God forbid, Rosie?  Besides, you’re the one that jumped on him. In fact, you were the one that was letting him pet you. I can’t believe you still like him, even after all the lies he told me.”

The cat sniffed at her and bounded ahead.

Passing through the wards felt like coming home, and the charm to turn on the porch light still worked.  Blinking back tears, Molly thought about how proud Zachary and Annabelle had been to finally work out the kinks with that charm.

_“Motion detection, Mols, but activated by someone passing through the wards!  I bet nobody has thought of this yet. Automatically turns on the Tempus charms too, to make the house just the right amount of cozy or breezy.”  Zach was practically bouncing up and down, and Annabelle had a restrained but confident smile on her face._

_Anything to distract them from the fact that more and more Muggleborns were disappearing every day._

Molly paused and surveyed the exterior of the house.  The vegetable garden she had planted had gone wild, overgrown turnip greens and leeks shadowing rotting cabbages and some very large potato plants.  Her potions garden, on the other hand, seemed to be thriving. She reminded herself to check her potions store and, if the contents had spoiled, come back out and harvest a few things to brew a quick Pepper-Up and headache solution and maybe, if he was lucky, a bit of a bruise salve for Moriarty.  He’d hit that wall hard enough to leave a dent.

The house itself seemed to be in good repair.  She, Zach, Annabelle, Georgina and Jacob had been near the top of their year, but quietly, and she wasn’t surprised by the testament to their skill.  She didn’t see any failing charms or decaying transfiguration, but she’d have to come back out in the light to get a closer look.

It was raining in earnest now, and Moriarty was positively soaked through.  His head had lolled to the side, so she didn’t have to worry about him getting too much water in his nose.  The mud had been washed off of his face by the tide of rain.

Bracing herself, she reached down to scratch Toby’s damp ears before tapping her wand in the simple pattern passcode they’d all agreed to memorize on the door frame.  The bright white door sighed and then swung silently open.

She hastily cast a drying charm on Toby as he ran in the house on delicate paws, and then took her time to stand in the foyer and cast several drying, warming and cleansing charms on herself.  She let Moriarty levitate outside for the duration.

So he wouldn’t drip all over the hardwood, she cast a rough drying charm on him as she brought him inside.  Just enough to dry out his skin too, so he’d wake up all itchy. It was no less than he deserved.

The interior of the house seemed untouched at a first glance.  Polished hardwood floors, Zachary had nicked those from his dad’s construction business, and a cozy set of bright yellow armchairs and a plush sofa with polished ebony accents that Jacob had transfigured sitting without any dust.  The fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, and a full pot of Floo powder was waiting on the mantle. They’d never gotten the fireplace hooked up to the network, and it was honestly just as well.

A few Wizarding photos of the five of them and their families were on the wall.  A Hufflepuff banner above the fireplace, and a faux Persian rug that Jacob had enlisted her help to change entirely to shades of midnight and sunshine.

_“Don’t you think this is going a bit overboard with the house pride, Jake?  I mean, if we have to spend a long amount of time here, I’m going to go barmy around all this yellow.”  Molly had made a face but dutifully kept adjusting the shades of the fibers in the rug._

_“No need to fret, Mols, I bet we won’t even need to hide out.  We’ll use this as a vacation home when we’re older with kids. It’ll be nice, and then we can admire all this hard work we did.”  He hadn’t looked up at her, but his drawn brow was more from anxiety than concentration. “Besides, you should be glad the walls are cream.  Georgina wanted to make them striped.”_

_He’d been killed by Death Eaters two weeks later._

Molly rubbed her forehead and sighed.  Her headache returned with a vengeance, and she thought longingly of her headache solution.  Soon.

With a flick of her wand, she set him on the sofa with more care than he deserved.  She blew out a resigned sigh and tilted her head. He’d landed with his legs slightly akimbo and Molly was struck with a thought as she absently cast a cleansing charm on his shoes.

What was in his pockets?

His fine, fawn colored dress suit was horribly wrinkled, no doubt to her hasty drying charm, but it did mean that the contents of his pockets were dry.

His pants pockets contained four individually wrapped pieces of gum, a money clip with around two thousand pounds stuffed inside, a small knife and a mobile phone that must have been overloaded as soon as she’d hit him with a full body spell.  She tossed it all on an end table.

His jacket pockets contained a small revolver, a handful of extra bullets, and another phone, also dead.  She roughly patted the rest of him down, from the collar of his shirt to the insides of his shoes. She found another gun and two knives, as well as a small device that might have been a GPS tracker or maybe a microphone, which was also broken.  She took off his expensive watch and a large gold ring with a magpie embossed on it from the middle finger of his right hand.

Eyeing the pile on the table, she was tempted to banish all of it, but then had another thought.  She stared at his jaw and thought long and hard about how to do this. It would do no good for him to commit suicide, again, as soon as she woke him up.

Prying open his stiff jaws was easy for someone who did it to dead people often and Molly pointed her wand in his mouth, muttering, “ _Revelio_.”  And yes, she was right, something was hidden in his back molar.  Probably not a common filling, that wouldn’t technically be something someone wanted to conceal.  Probably a cyanide tablet in a fake tooth. The only question now was how to get it out.

She turned to Toby, who was lounging in front of the fire licking his side.  She adopted her best imitation of Sherlock’s thinking pose and started talking out loud.  “I can’t just rip the tooth out, it’s probably held into the jaw by a screw, or a steel peg.  I’m not good enough for precision banishment or Reducto without taking out half his jaw, Obliteration probably won’t work on something actually attached to a body, but oh, there was that girl, Harry Potter’s friend.”  Staring into the fire, Molly tried to remember. “Someone hit her buck teeth with an enlargement charm, and then they had to take her to the Hospital Wing and her teeth looked perfectly lovely afterwards…”

Molly put pressure to her temples.  Yeah, she was gonna need that headache potion soon.

“ _Accio_ healing books!”  Four books came whizzing down the stairs and stacked themselves neatly on the floor next to her.

Looking back and forth between the books and an unconscious Moriarty, she stretched and rubbed the back of her neck.  “You, my definitely-not-friend, will stay like that until I cast the spell to say otherwise. So, I will be taking a nice hot shower, and then try to find something to wear, but first, let’s just give this a shot… _Accio_ headache solution!”  Even if it was over ten years old, she didn’t think that it had an expiration date, especially under the strong preservation spell that had been layered over all the perishables before they left.  Potions had been her top score at Hogwarts, she’d gotten an O on both her O.W.L and N.E.W.T. Professor Snape had treated her with a modicum of respect, which amounted to lavish praise from any other professor at Hogwarts.

The headache solution was one of her very own, and she swirled the periwinkle liquid in it’s vial a few times to stir up any sediment before downing it in one shot.  “Bleh,” she shook from stem to stern, “Never get used to the licorice aftertaste of that.” But her headache was receding rapidly, so she stood and stretched.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Toby, just gonna go freshen up.”  The cat flicked his tail in acknowledgement.

Padding up the stairs, she opened the first door on the left and flicked her wand to turn on the lights and the shower.  They’d installed a Muggle shower stall and a large tub, because Jacob had taken all of them to his dad’s business after hours to comb through and find which ones they wanted to replicate.  It was too expensive to steal, so they’d had to _Geminio_ what they needed and read through a dozen extremely boring instructional texts on Wizarding plumbing.

The end result wasn’t a Prefect bath, but it was serviceable.

Tossing her clothes angrily to the basket in the corner (Annabelle’s insistence, Jacob’s handiwork, the ghosts of her friends were everywhere), she stepped in and pulled the pink ‘Molly’ knob for her custom scented soap.  Water switched to a fragrant citrus and jasmine foam came out of the shower head and she scrubbed herself almost viciously, until she was flushed and so clean she was practically sterilized.

Pushing the knob back in to turn the shower head from soap to water, she sighed deeply and leaned her forehead against the subway tile they’d thought was so chic, letting the shower massage her shoulders.  Running her hands over her face, she whispered to herself, “What the hell am I doing?”

She was about to extract a poison capsule from the tooth of one of the most dangerous men in the Muggle world, _her ex-boyfriend,_ and then interrogate him.  With magic. That she hadn’t used in way too long to be using it on another human being.

She was going to sleep very, very well afterwards.  She hadn’t used this much magic in over ten years and it was starting to pull at her eyelids.

Biting back a sob, because she didn’t want to be doing this, she didn’t want to be back in the Wizarding world, thrust back into the house she’d built with her best mates while they were considering vanishing because _a madman_ wanted to perform _ethnic cleansing_ on them and their classmates and the authorities were doing _nothing_ and people were _dying_ every day and _she just could not handle that right now_.

Moriarty aside, and he came with his own host of emotional mess in her head, this experience was bringing up a lot of repressed trauma that she just didn’t have time to deal with.

Biting her knuckles, Molly reached out and blindly shut off the water, grabbing one of the fluffy towels they’d stolen from Hogwarts to wrap around herself and bury her face into.  Rubbing herself dry, she padded down the hall to her room, praying the clothes she’d worn from, essentially, _secondary school_ were still able to fit her.

Twenty minutes later, she came down with her damp hair in a tight ponytail and an old school robe on.  She’d just buttoned it all the way down to mid thigh and put on a clean set of underwear. The bra, depressingly, still fit.  She’d belted the robe closed with one of her old school ties.

Sighing, she arranged Moriarty’s arms and legs more naturally on the couch and moved everything out from in front of it.  Kneeling, she took a minute to study his face. He looked so much more like Jim from IT, the man who had been so sweet to her a lifetime ago.  His brows were still dark slashes across his face, drawn even in artificial slumber. His large eyes were closed, lashes fanning delicately over the smudges beneath them.  His face was narrower than the last time she’d seen him, but his lips looked very soft, if a little chapped from her drying charm. His hair was falling into his face, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved for several days.  His pale throat had a new scar, going from behind his ear all the way down to under his shirt. She ran one finger over it before snatching her hand back like it had been burned.

Molly rubbed her eyes one more time.  “Just a little more, and then you can sleep, I promise,” she whispered to herself.  Dragging over the books, she started flipping through, looking for anything related to dentistry.

Running through her mind of what she knew about suicide pills, she looked up from the books to stare at where the spell had said something was hidden.  Chances were it was some kind of composite covering the top of the tooth, which could be broken with enough pressure. Not glass, but maybe a thin porcelain?  The pill or liquid would be inside, and because of its position in the back molar, easily swallowed.

She absently cast _Revelio_ again, staring hard at the glowing tooth.  “I’m going to have to remove the whole thing.  Damnit.” She closed her eyes and drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her head on her knees.  She could do this, she’d done it before, pulled teeth out of skulls, but the only tool she had was her wand and her wand was not a pair of forceps and Moriarty wasn’t a body on a slab.  Would a tooth removal spell work on something that was man-made? Or would it only recognize the bone and blood and soft tissue of a natural tooth?

Molly twirled her wand between her fingers, biting her lower lip, staring at the graceful line of his jaw.

She had no idea what to do, but she had to try.  Maybe a shield, and then a very small _Confrigo_ to break the false tooth into pieces.  Dangerous, but she could attempt it. Wouldn’t it just fucking figure that her first day back to using magic in a decade would include trying to rip things out of the skull of the world’s only consulting criminal.

Putting a shield bubble around the tooth, closing her eyes and trying to sink her magic into his jaw, which presented a startling resistance, she went as close as she could to root of the steel peg without destroying the bone, and she had to stop.  He couldn’t take much more magic being shoved directly into his system like this, or it would start to burn him. And it wasn’t working anyway, she wasn’t a mediwitch and she couldn’t get it precise enough. If she made the shield too thin, it wouldn’t contain the _Confrigo_ and he couldn’t talk without his jaw and tongue.  Too thick, and the spell wouldn’t penetrate at all and she did not want to deal with the fallout of that.  Hogwarts didn’t cover practical medical procedures and Molly felt a deep twinge of regret for the learning that never was.

The shield charm, though…She stared at the swirling blue shield over his tooth.  She could set a very thin one of those, so he would never even notice it. Almost like putting a very strong, clear polymer around the tooth itself.  He could still chew, he could live his entire life without knowing it was there, until he tried to break it.

Smoothing the shield down and concentrating it on the crown of the tooth, extending it down to the gum line, but not below, she considered it good enough for now.  Shoving the books over, she stood and surveyed her area for interrogation.

She needed somewhere to sit and look dangerous.

Dragging over one of the armchairs, she arranged herself in front of the couch in a way she hoped was intimidating.  At the last minute, she dragged the end table containing all of his possessions next to the polished ebony arm of the chair.

Pointing her wand at Jim Moriarty, Molly fired off several spells in rapid succession, “ _Incarcerous.  Rennervate. Silencio._ ”

Moriarty jerked awake, tied from head to toe with strong rope, he tried to shout but felt no vibrations in his throat.  He could only sense he was on something soft, there was a fire nearby given the flickering shadows on the white ceiling and…

Jim turned his head to the side fractionally and saw Molly fucking Hooper in a weird black dress with a crest on the breast and a striped belt, looking pretty angry, but then she crossed her left leg over her right and exposed quite a bit of bare thigh, and, well, he was only a man and he knew for a fact those thighs were firm and silky smooth…

Seeing his gaze wander, Molly glanced down and then back at him incredulously.  “Seriously? I knock you out, tie you up and abscond to not-London with you and the first thing you want to do is _look at my legs_?”  Jim rolled his eyes and Molly held up her wand.  “I’m going to let you talk. If you don’t say what I want to hear, I’ll shut you right back up again.  Why you were in my flat?”

She sent a silent _Finite Incantatum_ towards his mouth with a flick of her wand.

He was quiet for a heartbeat, his eyes impossibly wide, then, almost to just test it out, he said, “Well, I’m a little put out you never tied me up when we were dating.  All you ever had to do was ask.” When Molly’s brows soared to her hairline, Jim smirked and then looked annoyed when he couldn’t move his hands. He wiggled a bit against the bindings, suddenly furiously itchy.  “I’ll give you tit for tat. Quid pro quo, _Clarice_. _”_

Swaying her foot in the air a few times, Molly rested her head on her fist.  She hadn’t really expected him to answer her question on the first try, but he was taking this entire situation with a remarkable grace. “Since you’re handling this so well, I feel compelled to say yes.  I’ll be generous and let you go first.”

He gave her one of his too-wide grins that was probably supposed to be charming, but just looked fucking insane, and asked, “Alright Molly-my-Bell,” she narrowed her eyes at that, she’d found the nickname endearing from Jim from IT, but from THIS Jim, it was grating, “What exactly ARE you?”

Stopping, she stared at him. Holding up her wand, she gestured to her robes and replied incredulously, “You honestly can’t guess?”

Moriarty became very still and locked his eyes on her face.  Despite the fact he was tied with magical rope, she still found herself a little frightened.  She could not forget, not for one second, that this man was just as dangerous without a wand as she was with one.  “I’ve spent most of my life searching for power, and you, tiny little ordinary Molly Hooper, are hiding the most power I’ve seen in my life, and you expect me to just _assume_ that it’s, what, _MAGIC_? _”_ He shouted the last part and Molly held up her wand in warning.

The silence was deafening.

“Does it bother you, _Jimmy_ ,” she said softly, “that I was born with something that makes me more powerful than you can ever hope to be?  That I can do _this_ ,” and she swished and flicked her wand to perform the first real magic trick she learned as a child and made everything from the side table dance around her head like a halo, “and no matter how hard you try, you’ll never, ever be able to do anything like it because I was born this way and you were not?”

He seethed from the couch, too enraged to speak, and she continued quietly, “When I was in school, a man more insane than you, a wizard who thought that I shouldn’t be allowed to live because I was born to non-magical parentage, tried to destroy every single person like me.”  The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, a log splitting and throwing long shadows between them. “I don’t want to kill another man with magic, but I’d _destroy_ you before letting you get your hands on power like this.  But, James Moriarty, I don’t really have to worry about that because even if you kill me, even if you steal my wand, it’ll just be a cold dead stick in your hands because my magic lives _inside_ of me.”

Crossing her legs the other way, and this time his hateful gaze didn’t move from her face, she sighed and threw out, “So, quid pro quo, I’m a witch.”  She gestured lazily to Toby, who was still sprawled in front of the fire. “Familiar included. Broomstick in the shed out back. Cauldrons and potions parts and real honest-to-God spell books.”  She raised her arms lacklusterly, deadpanning, “Ta da.”

Levering her wand right in the middle of his forehead, she prefaced her question with, “Just so you know, I’m getting very tired.  If you don’t answer my question, I’m going to force you to go to sleep and we’ll try again tomorrow. I hope you can hold your bladder, because I’m going to upset if I have to clean that couch in the morning.”

“Actually, now that you’ve mentioned it…” He arched his hips just a little, as much as the ropes would allow, and raised his eyebrow.

“On second thought, cleaning charms are just so handy.  I can make anything spotless, just like _that.”_ She flicked her wand and made a stream of golden sparkles fly out.   “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s try my first question again. Why were you in my flat?”

His lips went very thin and his eyes got very narrow.  “Can’t a guy just miss his best girl?”

“If I was your best girl, then I pity you,” she deadpanned.  “One more try to answer before nighty-night, Jimmy.”

He looked her in her tired eyes, then smirked and settled more comfortably on his back.  He let the silence stretch for too many heartbeats, then, “Goodnight then, Molly-my-Bell.  My little _witch_.”

The _Stupefy_ hit him hard enough to make him _bounce._

Not for the first time, Molly Hooper thought back to her naive eleven year old self, who thought that magic meant unicorns and flying and dragons and elves.  That girl was right, but she was also very, very wrong.

She picked up her very warm and very boneless cat and quietly made her way to her room to cry herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always wanted to explore the dynamic of a Muggleborn, who isn’t involved with the Golden Trio, in a world where they’ve been brutalized by magic/war and have a problem with their natural power over every Muggle they care deeply about. I also love exploring the idea of Molly having power over one of the most powerful men in the Sherlock universe. I realized that other than Eurus sticking cameras in her apartment, nobody has really gone after Molly. Give her seven years of dueling club and a strong reaction reflex to being almost murdered and well hello there, you interesting idea you.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Please review and let me know what you think.


	2. Ennervate

Molly slept until well past noon, barely able to pull her eyes open at the intense sunshine spearing through the Battenburg lace curtains.  Toby had curled up next to her chest and started purring when her heavy hand found his head and gave him a few scratches behind the ears.

“I’m tired, Toby, and I don’t want to face what’s downstairs.  Can I just…stay here?”

Toby rubbed his face against hers, then jumped down and waited patiently by the door.  He meowed his ‘it’s breakfast time and I’m hungry’ meow and blinked at her.

“Yeah, I guess food waits for no witch.”  Throwing back the plush comforter, a spare snuck out of Hogwarts, Molly sat up and immediately regretted it.

The feeling of magical depletion was akin the to the worst hangover she’d ever experienced.  The room swam around her, her head felt full of cotton and her stomach tried to jump out of her mouth. Immediately, she vomited on the floor, then viciously banished it.  The small act of magic _pulled_ on her senses, and she fell back on the bed with a groan.  At least she’d had the sense to hang her robes up over a chair and change into an old-fashioned muslin nightgown.  It was loose and comfortable, but still allowed her rapidly warming body to breathe.

Her hand was shaking, and she had a cold sweat on her brow.  If she looked in the mirror, she knew she would be pale as a ghost.  If she died from this, would Moriarty just stay asleep and die of dehydration?  Crumble up and turn to dust? The house would last long after she had passed, she could only assume her spell would be the same.  Or would he wake and die slowly, tied up on the couch her friend had built? It would soil something awful.

Was the _Stupefy_ subtly draining her magic?  Molly suddenly realized she didn’t know.  Was it a sustained spell that tethered her magic and siphoned from it slowly, or did it suspend him in a false sleep until she used one of dozens of ways to wake him up?  One expenditure of power and that was it? Would he eventually just…wake up on his own when it wore off?

Molly’s stomach gurgled, and with a start, she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch at her last shift.  She could take another potion, but…food was probably the best way to replenish her body. Too many stimulants would wreck hell on her liver.  Professor Snape always assigned essays on the effects of overuse of nutrient and stimulant potions, both around exam time to keep use of energy potions down and Valentine’s day for the vapid idiots that tried to substitute food for nutrient potions to lose weight for the ‘most romantic day of the year’.  Those essays had drilled the safe consumption of such potions into her, and she immediately erred on the side of food.

Hauling herself up, she took three tries to pull off her nightgown.  She fumbled with the clasps on her robe, not even thinking about underwear.  That could wait until after her shower.

She had to sit at the top of the stairs and, praying Moriarty wasn’t awake, scoot herself down on her bottom.  Undignified, but less so than tumbling down and breaking her fool neck. She clutched the banister at the bottom as her vision darkened and went spotty.  Molly sucked in a deep breath and stood up.

If Annabelle’s work connecting the larder to Hogwarts had failed, she would be well and truly fucked.  Eating mealy potatoes and fibrous leeks from the garden was about the most unappealing thing she could think of.

Holding onto the wall, Molly hobbled into the kitchen and sat at the small table, crossing her arms and trying to control her body.  It wasn’t just her hands shaking now, her legs were twitching and her stomach was roiling.

“Please, please, please, give me something to eat.” She pulled open the heavy oak cabinet and found a platter of what must have been for lunch at Hogwarts, small corned beef pies, a tureen of hot chicken soup and an assortment of biscuits.

Hauling all of it out of the cabinet, she started spooning the soup into her mouth directly from the tureen, while trying to simultaneously eat a corned beef pie.  The smell of the food had triggered a ravenous wave of hunger, and her stomach didn’t protest a single thing she ate. God, but she’d missed the meals at Hogwarts.

Trying to force herself to go slowly, she stopped after one pie and half of the tureen, determined to keep some of it as a bargaining chip for Moriarty.

Selecting a ginger nut from the plate of biscuits, she sat and digested while breaking open a pie to give to Toby.  No cat food, the meat would have to do. Mashing the crust mindlessly to the side, she stared out the window above the sink.

What would she do if Moriarty refused to answer her questions? She didn’t keep Veratiserum on hand, it took a full month to brew, she’d have to go an apothecary for at least six of the ingredients. She’d never had cause to use the variety of subtle truth spells she’d read about in books.  She could certainly try, but in her state of weakness there might be unexpected consequences, and none of them were quite the equal to Veratiserum. Moriarty was clever enough to think around the compulsion to speak the truth, she’d bet her salary on it. Thinking of sweet Rosamund and the trouble she might be in, Molly thought of her last options. The ones she could do, but she _really_ didn’t want to.

Time was short, after all.

Molly set the plate of broken pie in front of Toby, who purred appreciatively.

Like almost everyone within four years of her graduation date, she’d returned to help in the Battle of Hogwarts.  By that time, only Georgina was still alive. Everyone else from their group of friends had been caught by snatchers or Death Eaters and killed.  Molly had assisted Madam Pomfrey by brewing any quick, easily made potions and salves, casting some minor healing spells when the Matron was busy with a more serious case and assisting in setting up field infirmaries.  She hadn’t minded taking care of the dead, either.

Molly had never tortured another person with her magic before.  Never hurt anyone to get information.

She’d killed two Death Eaters that had tried to attack the makeshift infirmary she had helped set up closer to the battlefield, dispatching one by using _Incarcerous_ on the neck and a tightening charm and turning her eyes away while her spells choked the life out of him.  The other had been a flurry of hexes and shield charms, both of them frantic, frightened, but unable to yield until Molly had gotten in a lucky _Reducto_ to the skull and, well, there wasn’t anything to do to repair that. But that had been over ten years and another lifetime ago.

But to save Rosamund, John and Mary’s sweet girl?  Her goddaughter? She’d learn a few good techniques to hurt him just enough, repurpose some creative curses, or even dig out the book on Legilimancy she’d thought would be useful, and then just…find some way to get rid of him after that.  Toss him off the cliff, or take him for a broom ride and let him fall, or just slip a common poison in his water. Aqua Nidius, maybe, or just some crushed monkshood.

But first, she had to wake him up.

 

* * *

 

The most remarkable thing about Sherlock was that he had no magical ability at all.  His mind was so sharp, so keen, so incredibly fast that he didn’t even need it to fire off information about as rapidly as a diagnosis spell or _Revelio_ would have unfolded the pieces for her.  That was one of the things that had really attracted her to him.

Jim was extraordinary in the same way, but in that he didn’t need magic to create the kind of hellish chaos similar to what the Death Eaters had been capable of.  He worked out the right kind of pressure and fear to control someone, to bring them to their knees, to make them _want_ to do whatever he needed just so they could stop feeling so helpless and terrified.  He could find a weak spot and _press_ as fast as Sherlock could solve a puzzle.

Two halves of the same shitty Galleon.

Molly had been in battle before, and one Muggle couldn’t really incite true fear.  True panic. She felt sick when she acknowledged that she wasn’t afraid of Jim, here in this house, because of the safe reassurance of her magic and the ability to freely wield it.  The prejudice she’d tried so long to ignore reared its ugly head. He was a Muggle, she was a witch. There was very little rational reason for her to be afraid of him. No matter what, she would always have the upper hand.  All she had to do was flick her little stick or wave her hand and she could destroy his body and mind with almost no thought.

That constant background knowledge had driven a wedge between her and her Muggle family.  Her and her Muggle friends. Even if he didn’t know, between her and Muggle Sherlock. Her and everyone, save the corpses in the morgue.

As she stood over Moriarty’s prone form, she found herself pitying him.  He’d probably worked most of his life to build his network, his empire, and he was absolutely no match for her.  No matter how hard he worked, it would never be possible for him to surpass her in terms of sheer potential. All that work, all that cleverness, to worm into someone’s head to control them?  All she had to do was cast _Imperio_. As long as her magic held out, she could control probably as many people as he had, with a much smaller margin of error or betrayal.

Leaning over him, she wrinkled her nose.  He’d soiled the couch overnight. How…very human of him.  She hadn’t really expected him to do something so undignified, and it felt like a violation that she had witnessed it.  She debated letting him wake in his own filth, but cast a _Scourgify_ anyway. Molly was a lot of things, but she wasn’t quite that cruel.

Arranging the tea set, with a single pie and shallow bowl of soup, held warm with stasis charms, on the end table that remained unoccupied, Molly sat in her chair and got ready to face her enemy.

“ _Ennervate_.”

 

* * *

 

Moriarty took a long time to rise out of his unconscious state this time, and that worried Molly.  Muggles were naturally more sensitive to magic, a few more _Stupefies_ and he might never wake up at all.  She needed to know how to counteract what he’d set in motion, he couldn’t die before she had gotten all of his plans out of him.  She needed to learn to control herself more. He’d need to eat and drink, but first he needed to take her seriously.

His skin was stretched tightly over his face and his eyes were looking unfocused at her ceiling.  With a start, she realized she had no idea of the consequences of prolonged _Stupefy_.  She couldn’t bring it in her to care much at the moment, but she resolved to research it tomorrow.  Or the next day. But for now, he needed to see what she could do with her wand. Molly made a split second decision.  She prodded him with her foot. He flopped his head bonelessly over to her, staring accusingly, and she held her wand up in a defensive position.

A strange expression came over his face, a combination of hatred and extreme desire.  His face contorted, twisting into something between a sneer and a smirk, but before he could open his mouth, Molly spoke.

“You’re coming with me.  I have something to show you.”  Plain words, spoken with little emotion, but she had to let him know more of what she was capable of.  Praying the food had replenished enough of her magical stores to be impressive, she cast _Levicorpus_ on Moriarty, who went very still except for his harsh breathing, and _Wingardium Leviosa_ on everything she’d pilfered from his person yesterday.

She took him outside, where he blinked very rapidly in the sunlight and relaxed his neck.  “You know, little witch, this is a great way to travel. I might just have to steal you after this is over.”

Molly cut the spell immediately.

Moriarty fell to the ground and lost all of the air in his lungs.  “Or, maybe not. Rude.”

Yanking him upright, she cast a spell to keep him propped up in a sitting position, then hissed, “Watch me, Jim.  Don’t look away.” She tugged on the magic holding the small items in the air, her head was already throbbing and each new act brought another spike of pain, and brought them to dance above her head.  “I’m going to give you a demonstration. Then, once you’ve seen a fraction of what I can really do, I’ll take you out of the ropes and bring you inside to feed yourself. You’ll come to your own conclusions about why it would be bad to try anything untoward after that.”

His eyes had gotten darker, pupils as wide as the bright sun would let them go.  It would figure he’d get off on threats of violence.

Molly pulled one of his guns forward.  She made it rotate in front of them, and she watched Moriarty flick his eyes to all the items behind her and start to squirm.

“Excuse me, little witch, but I believe those are mine.  A few are quite expensive and rather sentimental, and I’d appreciate them back now.”  He used a tone she gathered was always obeyed, a tone that was shot through with threats and the beginning of a deep rage.  He very clearly expected her to be intimidated.

How cute.

Her eyes blank, Molly gave an empty half grin.  “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Jim Moriarty? I’m a witch, and I’ll never have to do anything you say.”

She tossed the gun up and, consequences to her health be damned, cast the strongest _Confrigo_ she could.  The gun exploded in midair, and she followed it up with a near instant banishment charm to take away the shrapnel.  Her head felt like it was being torn in half, but she snarled and pressed on.

Next she brought one of his phones, and she could see his steady gaze assessing her.  He wasn't scared, not yet, but he was  _interested._

“I’ll never be afraid of you again, because you’ll never have power over me.”

She cast _Immoliate_ and watched the play of emotions over his face through the fire.  Interest folding into discomfort folding into something she couldn't name.  Her head was throbbing and she was finding it difficult to focus.  The plastic of the case smoked and split, the interior mechanisms whining at the intense heat.  

She destroyed the second phone by freezing it until it shattered, then gave him a display of her Transfiguration skills by twisting the knives into a small crown that she floated over to rest on his head, pulling the bullets apart and turning them into rubies, clustered at the front in a gaudy display.  She let it sit and admired the sparkle before banishing the whole thing.  The pain was shooting through her eyes to her brainstem, and she found herself grinning almost maniacally, slowly becoming more unhinged.  She wondered, faintly, when she was going to get a nosebleed.  Her blood pressure felt quite high.

Moriarty never flinched.  His brows were drawn far down, his eyes shuttered and glaring at her.  The set of his mouth made her think of a predator hiding oversized fangs.  He could kill her with that mouth, she thought feverishly, but he'd have to get past her magic to do it.  The thrill of  _he can never ever do that_ sung through her blood.

She unfolded the revolver and pulled the metal out into a long sheet, thin as tinfoil and smooth as glass.  The pain made her want to vomit, but she just grinned wider.

His face reflected in it, free from emotion and completely blank.  He had barely blinked, but she could feel the roil of hatred and anger and loathing just under the surface, and she _relished_ in it.  Molly was beyond tired, the painful spike constantly pushing deeper into her brain, but she only had a few more of his possessions to destroy, and she was struck with an idea.

“I’m going to give you a gift, Jim.”

“Noooooooo, thanks.” Was drawn out in a way that slapped her in the face with faux-boredom.  “You’ve already been so _hospitable_ , it would be embarrassing to have you spoil me more.  I really must decline.” A thread of something, nervousness or maybe fear, ran under his words.  She caught that tone and buried it away later, like a mental music box to play when she was frightened,  _Jim Moriarty is scared of me_ _._

Molly had already started folding the metal smaller and smaller, as if she hadn’t heard him.  “Well, then consider it really a gift for myself. I want you to remember this moment for every second you think about magic.  And I want to remember this feeling, that Molly Hooper beat Jim Moriarty.”

He kept eye contact with her, and what she saw on his face reminded her that he was the man who had almost beat Sherlock, the man who had almost brought Britain to her knees, a man she would be terrified of if the pain hadn't shoved her common sense out the window.  She sealed the collar made from his weapon around his neck and felt like a god.  Took his power and made it hers.  What he could have used to kill her, she used to bind him.  Tight enough to make him _feel_ it, seamless and smooth.  “We’ll see about that, Molly-mine.”  His voice held dark promise, and she knew it made her eyes darken and gain an unhealthy gleam.

Molly turned the wrapped gum into butterflies and the money into a flowering bush.  Harmless, sweet, pretty.

Holding up the device she’d found on his person, the only thing she couldn’t identify, she asked him, “Out of sheer curiosity, what exactly is this?”

He shrugged, or at least tried to.  “It’s not your turn to ask another question, my little witch.”

Molly pursed her lips tossed it in the air, destroying it with a silent _Reducto_.

The last two items were the watch and ring, but Molly was completely worn out.  She had maybe two more spells in her, four if they were small, and then she’d have to fall back into bed.

Slipping the jewelry into the pocket of her robe, she pointed her wand at him.

“I’m going to untie you.  If you do something stupid, I’ll turn your head into a pumpkin.”

 _Relashio_ made the ropes vanish with a small pop.  Moriarty collapsed back against the mud with the sudden lack of support.  He immediately pushed himself up and tried to stand on his own. Judging by the expression on his face, the ropes had been tight enough to cut off circulation to his feet.  The rush of blood must have been rather unpleasant, but Molly tried to not let her amusement show.  The pain had reached a new high and it was making her delirious.

“At your leisure, Moriarty.”  Molly gestured back to the house.  “We can get you fed and washed up, or I can just send you back to dreamland.  Gentleman's choice.”

He finally stood and shook out his body, a long slow roll like a panther waking up from a deep slumber.  Moriarty looked at her and Molly knew what he was going to do the instant before he narrowed his eyes and _moved_.  He rushed towards her with killing intent rolling off of him in waves.  Oh how stupid of her, to have underestimated him so.  A small part of her brain at the back of her head slithered a thought forward, 'You wanted him to try, so you could hurt him.  You wanted the excuse.'

  
Molly did something she’d never thought she’d do.  She raised her wand and snarled at him, remembering the deceit of Jim from IT, the way he’d almost killed Sherlock, HAD killed dozens, if not hundreds, of people, and the way he simply never even cared about human life, shrieking, “ _CRUCIO_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it until next Monday! I hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you think. :>


	3. Wingardium Leviosa

Jim’s eyes were bloodshot and hazy, pupils blown, pinkish spittle starting to fall from one corner of his lax mouth.  He was completely unresponsive.

She’d held the curse for too long, then he had a seizure.

Molly felt filthy.  An Unforgivable. She’d cast an Unforgivable.  On a _Muggle_.  Worst of all, she’d meant it.  She’d delighted in the pain she’d caused him for a few minutes she lost control of herself.

She’d frantically dragged him back the house, getting mud all over the floors and tossing him down on the Persian rug before tearing through the small stack of healing books.

She didn’t even know if she had enough energy left to cast anything she found.

But potions, she had plenty of potions.  If he was bleeding in his brain, if he was hemorrhaging internally, what potion could fix that?  She’d spent so long training herself to do this without magic, and on people who had already died, that her brain was freezing, trying to call up information she’d tried to forget over the last ten-odd years.

“If you die, I’ll be able to cut you open to find out what I should have done right now.” Molly laughed weakly at her own terrible joke.

Her laughter died as she realized she honestly had no idea what to do.  How to fix him.

The only thing she could think of was walking to her potion shelf and selecting a sleeping draught and nutrient replenisher.

If sleep and building up his energy stores fixed him, then he’d live.

If it didn’t, then she’d have no use for a brain damaged criminal and she’d have to do something…permanent to hide what she’d done.

Quietly pouring the potions in his mouth, rubbing his throat to make him swallow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter the power struggle, he was winning.

Applying pressure to show her exactly what kind of person she was.

Even if he died now, it felt like that would be his final victory.

Laying him down on the floor, Molly felt exhaustion settle over her like a shroud.  One more thing, because she couldn’t risk any kind of sleeping charm with the sleeping potion in his veins and the remains of a _Crucio_ running over his nerves.

Hating herself, she touched the tip of her wand to his collar, and then dragged a fine silver chain to the middle of the floor, where she used a sticking charm to hold it into place.  Easily undone, but not by him. He’d rip up the floor before that chain would give. Making it long enough to let him get up and eat the food she’d left out, she added an unbreakable charm and a detection spell, to alert her when he woke up and started to move.  The sleeping potion should keep him out for long enough for her to get a decent night’s sleep as well.

Molly grabbed herself a vial of Dreamless Sleep and trudged up to shower and bed, Toby silent as a shadow on her heels.

 

* * *

 

Her wand buzzed ten hours later, and Molly reached from under the covers to tap it, then quietly listened to the rustling from downstairs.

She heard the exact moment Moriarty realized how short the chain was, and his curse and thump as it pulled him down to the ground.  She listened to the delicate sound of the chain as it was rattled, pulled and otherwise abused. Closing her eyes, she heard the scrape of china as he ate the food she’d left out yesterday.

She also heard the crash as he shattered the flatware against a wall.

He started shouting, “Molly Hooper!  My little witch! Molly-my-Bell, I want to finish playing our game!  Quid pro quo, remember? Don’t you want to find out what’s going to happen to the baby Watson?  And since you have magic and all, is it alright if I just relieve myself on this nice couch I didn’t sleep on?”

Molly dragged herself out of bed and flew down the stairs, nightgown trailing after her.

Moriarty’s hand was on the zipper of his pants when she made it to the landing, his eyebrow quirked.

“Can I use the restroom, love?  Maybe take a shower, freshen up.  Make myself ready for another day of fun and games?”

Silently, Molly flicked her wand and the end of the chain flew from the floor to her hand.  She fiddled with the end for a moment, then touched it to the tip of her wand. It stayed, and she gave it an experimental flick.  The chain started shortening, withdrawing into her wand and forcing Moriarty to walk towards her.

When he got within arms reach, she flicked it again to stop it.  He looked down at her, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes hooded (pupils reactive, no longer bloodshot, his face seemed to be working just fine and his motor functions were back, if his gate was little uneven) and he whispered, “Have you always wanted me on a leash, little witch?”

Glaring at him, she turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, forcing him to keep pace or trip.

Once in the bathroom, she gestured to the toilet and crossed her arms.

He stared at her.  “You can’t be serious.”

“If you think I’m turning my back on you for one second, you have another thing coming.  If you have to go, then go. I’ve seen it before, remember? When you lied to me and I slept with you?  Remember that, _Jim?_  I wasn’t impressed then and I’ll try to restrain myself this time.”  Molly leaned back against the wall and rubbed her eyes.

“Little witch, if I remember correctly, I _impressed_ you three times in a row, but suit yourself,” whistling a jaunty tune, he turned around and used the facilities.

After washing his hands, he pointed at the shower.  “I want to use that. I’m filthy and I hate it and you owe me for almost killing me and destroying my property.”

Well, she couldn’t argue there.  “I would prefer you to smell a bit cleaner.  Let me see what I have for you to wear.”

She started to walk and was pulled short by Moriarty planting his feet, a stubborn look crossing his face.  “Magic, right? If I do recall, you can just flick your stick and make things nice and clean again, yes? Then be a doll and do my laundry, little witch.”  His voice was absolutely poisonous.

Smiling sweetly, Molly deftly palmed the silver chain with one hand and pointed her wand at him with the other.  “I’ll do one you one better,” and she sent a powerful cleaning charm over him. It burrowed under his clothes, scraped along his skin and got rid of sweat, blood and all manner of filth.  Much like being licked by a large kneazle tongue. “There. Nice and fresh, no need for a shower. Gratitude would be nice, but I’ll settle for the continuation of our game. Come along, Jim.”

Tossing the end of the chain up and catching it with her wand, she dragged him downstairs.

 

* * *

 

Breakfast was a strangely domestic scene.  The larder provided jam and toast, with soft boiled eggs in egg cups and a pot of fresh tea.

Molly stuck Moriarty’s chain the center of the table, but he maneuvered around it delicately. His table manners were impeccable, slicing the top off the egg with his spoon and eating in small, polite bites.  He didn’t even get jam on his face, and the crumbs landed neatly on the delicate china, annoyingly tidy. He took his tea with one sugar and a splash of cream, drinking without slurping and his cup never rattling on the saucer.  His posture was perfect, spine straight and never touching the back of the chair.

Molly bustled around the kitchen as she ate, getting a smear of jam on her cheek and her fingers, and crumbs all down the front of her nightgown.  She nearly spilled her tea as she set the cup on the edge of the saucer, and set her egg down next to Moriarty in silent invitation.

Then Toby loudly meowed and she cracked the egg onto a plate for him instead.

When Moriarty was done eating, signified by him pushing his plate back a few inches and dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin, she absently levitated the dirty dishes back to the larder, returning them to the house elves on the other side.

“How does that work?” He asked suddenly, shocking her with the sound of his voice after so much quiet.

Looking lost between him and the open larder with dirty dishes in it, she said, “The…levitation or the…?”

“The food, Molly-my-Bell, how does the food just show up already cooked?  It’s delicious.” He tapped his fingers on the table, leaning in and staring at the larder.

“Oh, that’s…one of my frie…classmates who built this place with me, Annabelle, she came up with it.  It’s connected to the kitchens back at school. It’s supposed to just pilfer enough food to feed whoever is in the house when it’s opened, and then the dirty dishes materialize back with the others.  Seamless.”

“Lovely woman, very bright, is she single?” He fluttered his eyelashes at her.

“She’s dead.  She was caught by the followers of the wizard I told you about.  There…wasn’t much left to identify her by.” Molly’s gaze died a little, and she rubbed her eyes.  “Enough chitchat, we have a game to play.”

He didn’t protest when she grabbed the end of his chain and pulled him to the living area.

 

* * *

 

Once he was settled on the couch, chain stuck safely to the floor in front of him, Molly eased herself back in the sunshine yellow squashy armchair.

“I believe you never answered my question.  What were you doing in my flat?”

“We’re going just jump in, then?  I was in your flat to abduct you. My turn?”

Molly sat silently.  She assessed his relaxed posture, hands folded neatly in his lap, and realized that was an honest answer.  She’d have to wait her turn to get more details out of him. “Yes, your turn.”

“How many spells have you cast on dear Sherlock?”

Raising her eyebrow, Molly help up her index finger.  “One.”

The silence stretched between them.  When she didn’t elaborate, he tapped his fingers on his leg impatiently, “Your turn, then.  Off you pop.”

“Is Rosamund Watson in danger?”  Molly’s fingers tensed on the arm of her chair, her wand at the ready.

“The spawn of Sherlock’s pet and my previous assassin?  Not to my knowledge. So many things are dangerous to babies, though.  Buttons, stairs, grapes. Being associated with Sherlock Holmes. I don’t have a sniper trained on the squishy little lump, if that’s what you were getting at.”  He cleared his throat and got a strange look on his face. “Mary was respected by everyone else, in the end. Her marksmanship, her sense of humor. Nobody likes having to do in babies, and if I suggested it, I’m pretty sure the wee one would get her own private security detail.  Free of charge. Besides, she’s probably going to follow in Mummy’s footsteps. No use offing another soldier before she’s of use.”

Molly let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair. He might be lying, he was probably lying, but it sounded very, very plausible.  She stayed like that until she heard Moriarty shift uncomfortably.

She thought about asking about Mary, but she’d known about the other woman’s past.  Honestly, it would have been more surprising if she hadn’t been employed by Moriarty at some point, snipers and assassins seemed to be the type of people he kept in abundance.  Asking about more information…she probably didn’t want to know.

Keeping her eyes closed, she said, “Go.”

“What spell did you cast on Sherlock Holmes?”

Looking at him from under long lashes, she smirked.  “When I helped arrange his death, we figured he’d probably be forced to jump.  You’re so dramatic and all that, and it’s such a flashy way for him to finish his ‘fall’.  I cast a Cushioning charm on his coat. Limited, concentrated on his torso, and that’s the reason he didn’t break any ribs when he hit the airbag.  Barely even a bruise. I got a warning letter from the Ministry of Magic, but since it was just a first offense and he never knew, there was no penalty.  Not allowed to use magic on Muggles and all that.”

He gestured to himself.  “What about all of this?”  Tugging viciously on his chain, he glared at her, “You made so sure to make me feel my place.  Are there consequences for you I should look forward to?”

Molly went very still and whispered, “Not if nobody ever knows what I did to you.”  What went unsaid, ‘Not if nobody finds the body.’

The threat got her the full force of his attention, and Jim leaned back and propped his ankle up on his knee.  “Oh Molly-my-Bell, how did I really not see how terribly interesting you are the first time around?”

Giving him a tight smile, she said, “I really didn’t want you to.  I believe it’s my turn. How did you get that scar on your throat?”

“Oh, this old thing?  A parting gift from Mary herself.  She was less than happy about her severance package after the whole rooftop incident.  She was the best shot I had, I used her to trigger the special effects to blow my brains out.  But she was a loose end, and when I tried to take care of her… Got away before I could do anything but try to not bleed to death.  Clever thing.” He scratched at it absently, eyes wandering around the room. “My turn. With so much power at your fingertips, what’s a girl like you doing in a morgue like that?”

Sighing, Molly closed her eyes and leaned her head back.  “In the magical world, with my interests and specializations, my employment opportunities were limited.  I could have been an Auror, like magic police, and try to specialize in finding out HOW people died, but I could also have trained as a mediwitch.  They don’t really…have the same kind of way to treat bodies like us. Just a stasis charm and a room full of corpses, I guess. I…liked the Muggle world.  Missed it. Especially after the war, everyone just expected to go back to normal and I…I couldn’t deal with it any more. I wanted to do things without magic, see how far my mind could take me on it’s own.  What can I figure out without a dozen diagnosis charms? That sort of thing.”

“That,” and when she looked over, his eyes were _burning_ her, “is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.  You gave all of it up to be _ordinary_.”  His disappointment in her was swift and sudden and for some reason, she felt smaller than she had in years.

The silence opened like a chasm between them until Molly spoke, “What were your plans for me?  After abducting me?”

He blinked rapidly, like he’d forgotten about that plan to begin with.  “Oh. That. First see if you had gotten any more interesting, which you have, and if you hadn’t, then probably torture you for information and used you to send a message to Sherlock, but maybe keep you on a leash,” he tugged meaningfully at his own, keeping eye contact, “if you became useful enough for me to claim.  Maybe another tumble in the sheets. Not too much of a concrete plan, wanted to play it by ear. Eurus kept a pulse on things and sent me information about all of that sentiment between you and Sherlock, well, everyone and Sherlock. Mostly just about Sherlock, but she was just so biased that I couldn’t believe half of it.  Not the most reliable source of information, though, poor old girl. But she did have quite a lot to say about you.”

He spoke of it so casually, while fingering the chain she’d used to bind him, that she shuddered. ‘This is his mundane,’ she thought suddenly.  And then, ‘This is starting to feel like my mundane.’  Two, three days trapped in a house with a madman and she was adjusting much faster than she would have thought.  She didn’t like that one bit.

She also didn’t like the sound of that plan.  It didn’t ring quite true. Moriarty never ‘played things by ear’.  His plans reached years in the past and years in the future, a deep river with multiple branches in case of a dam.  Always a path for the water to reach the sea. It was true he probably wanted to abduct her, and the rest was a version of the truth, but there had to be so much more.

She went cold when she realized his assassins probably thought him dead.  What kind of contingency plan would he have in place for that? She needed him to ask his question, quickly.

“Your turn, Moriarty.”

He turned his head sideways, considering her.  “I bugged your flat, the first time you brought me back to your place.”  Her face flushed as she remembered the _Glee_ marathon and heavy petting that had followed.  He didn’t seem to share her embarrassment. “I watched you for months.  I never saw you do anything remotely magical. I never even saw your stick.  Why?”

“It’s a wand,” she corrected automatically.  “I’m not even going to try and reprimand you for invading my privacy like that, I know it’s not going to do any good.  It was quite rude to stop responding to my blog by the way. The simple answer is that, well... there’s two parts. One, magic pretty much shorts out any electronics in the vicinity.  Unless I wanted to bring the Ministry down on my head for shorting out my entire building on the daily, I couldn’t use any magic. None. Charms woven in the clothes, previously enchanted items, small, subtle, those are safe.  My wand is constantly in a pocket with Notice-Me-Nots layered over it to make sure Muggles like you never see it. Something about the waves casting a spell sends out just ruins any electrical grid it comes in contact with.” She saw him flick his eyes to the sconces on the wall and the oven in the kitchen.  “Ah, yes. Those all are powered with magic. My mates and I tampered with about a dozen of these before we figured out what wiring to rip out and replace with small, specific charms and a few rune arrays. There’s no electricity in this house. The second part is that I would get in a heap of trouble if a Muggle figured out I was a witch.  There are very large consequences for exposing Wizarding Britain to security risks. Maybe not just any Muggle, if they were someone trustworthy, but you? Huge pile of trouble.”

She rubbed her eyes, “And now they’ll know.  Someone will know. I performed magic, and it leaves a trace.  They can’t track me to here, but they’ll know that I Apparated, and it won’t be hard to deduce what happened when they go to question and then _Obliviate_ the witnesses.  The mercenaries, there’s no way they had time to clear out.  Aurors probably Apparated in just after I left. I just…Mycroft is going to know for sure, now.  There’s no way they won’t tell him.” She whispered, “He’s going to try and get his own pet pathologist witch at his fingertips, lucky him.”

“ _Obliviate_?”  Moriarty’s voice split through her thoughts like a knife.

Molly laughed humorlessly.  “Oh, did you think you’d remember any of this?  That I’d let you just walk out of here, memories in tact, and try to ruin that world?  I know that’s what you’d try to do, you ruin everything. Everything you can’t have, Jim Moriarty, you try to ruin.   _Obliviate_ is a memory charm.  When I perform it on you, I’ll erase everything, all traces of magic, any idea that it’s in the world at all.  It’ll be like this whole thing,” she gestured to the house around her with her wand, “never even happened.” She smiled in a way that didn’t reach her eyes.  “Don’t worry though, I’ll try to keep your previous memories in tact. You’ll remember everything else, I promise. But if I break that promise, how can you really know?”

A complicated look passed over his face before he settled his features into a neutral expression, his mouth drawn down in a tense frown.  He shifted in his seat and his stomach growled. Hers echoed in response.

He cleared his throat.  “May I use the facilities again?  And then, perhaps, a light lunch?”  If all it took was a threat of memory modification to give Moriarty manners, Molly bitterly regretted not trying it ages ago.

She murmured her agreement and summoned the chain to the tip of her wand.

She stared longingly at the shower while he handled his business.

After he’d washed his hands, he looked at her with a dark, seductive eyes.  “You could bathe, you know. I’ll stand riiiiight here. So you don’t have to let me out of your sight.”  He leaned his shoulder against the wall next to her, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off of him.  “Or, if you need someone to help wash your back…”

Straightening her nightgown, her cheeks turning bright red, she snapped, “I’ll manage without, thanks.”

His chuckle followed her out into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now Molly has her very own pet criminal. How delightful. That's it until next week! Let me know what you think.


	4. Oro Veritas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! There's smut in this chapter!

Lunch was fast, roast beef sandwiches with sliced fruit and pitchers of pumpkin juice.

Moriarty stared at his cup, distrust written all over his face.  “What in the hell is this?”

Molly stared at him for a second.  “…taste it. It’s pumpkin juice.”

He gave her a look that implied many things about her intelligence, none of them good.  “I’ve used plenty of pumpkins as target practice, none of them were ever juicy. It’s a gourd.  What could they possibly do to squeeze liquid out of it?”

“I’m not…I’ve never looked into the manufacturing process for pumpkin juice, we just drink it and it’s delicious.”  She smiled. “Just try it, Jim.”

He didn’t return her smile, but he did try a sip.  Raising both eyebrows and nodding in approval, he didn’t look at her face as he set the cup next to his plate and took another small bite of sandwich.

Molly looked her own meal, suddenly conflicted.  She’d _really_ liked Jim from IT, and most of that had been a lie, but she’d seen glimpses of that man in the few days they’d been here.  It felt…nice, to be able to share some of the wonders of the Wizarding world with someone else. Someone new, and see his reaction.  Demonstrate her prowess with magic, and feel powerful, and she looked under her lashes to see the collar around his neck again. She wanted to see him in awe of her.  She wanted Jim to be more infatuated with her than with Sherlock. Her skill with magic made her interesting, and she wanted him to _want_ her.  The feeling swelled up inside of her, repressed desires roaring to the front while she considered her quickly sogging bread.

The memory of Rosie cuddling in her arms shoved it’s way to the front of her mind, and any thoughts she’d had about spending companionable time with _Jim fucking Moriarty_ were dashed.  What in the world had come over her?  She desperately needed to find out his plan.

Her appetite vanished, but remembering the feeling of a magical hangover, she forced herself to finish her sandwich and her glass of pumpkin juice.  The carbs and protein sat heavy in her stomach while she nibbled on a slice of pear, waiting for Moriarty to finish eating.

“Where did you learn your table manners?” She surprised herself by asking.

He looked up and his eyes strayed to the dot of mustard on her cheek and the crumbs gathered in her lap.  “Not the same place as you, thank goodness.” At her glare as she tidied herself, he rolled his eyes. “At school.  I was, as you can imagine, an intelligent young lad who qualified for scholarships to a school for gifted children. I learned _many_ of my talents there.”

It was strange to think of a young Jim learning table manners from a dowdy old teacher that probably smacked his wrist with a ruler when he held his teacup wrong.

It was even stranger to think of Moriarty as a small, dark haired child named James.

“…Did you go to school near London, then?  Based on the accent I just assumed Ireland.”

He set down his crust on his plate and wiped his fingers delicately.  “I’d appreciate you not bringing that up again. I’m a… private man. I’m finished with my meal.  Since I’m currently chained to the table like a dog, I can’t move my plate back to the magic cupboard that will whisk it away to be cleaned.  If you would be so kind?” His face was cold.

Her cheeks turned pink as she cleared the table.

Back in the sitting room, Moriarty chained to the floor again and Molly curled into her armchair, she levitated out a tea service to sit on the end table closest to her.

While she prepared the tea, she tossed her question out, “What was your contingency plan?  In case you died in my flat?”

He looked at her incredulously.  “You can’t be serious. That never even crossed my mind.  There’s no contingency plan for dying in Molly Hooper’s flat.”

Handing him a teacup and saucer, she quipped, “I’m going to miss you underestimating me, Moriarty.  No contingency plan for dying in my flat, what about dying any other time?”

Taking a sip of his tea and giving a nod of approval, he shot back, “You’re learning, but you already used your question, dearest.”

She huffed but conceded, “I suppose that’s true.  To you.”

He held his cup awkwardly for a moment before Molly got the hint and brought the second end table closer to him.  He set the cup down without a clink of china and steepled his fingers. “You said you ‘never wanted to kill another man with magic’.  Who, exactly HAVE you killed, and how?”

“I told you I was in a war.  I killed two Death Eaters when they tried to attack the field infirmary I had set up.”

“Death Eater?  Seriously? That’s what the bad guys called themselves?” He looked…very disappointed.  She shrugged helplessly. “That’s not what I would have gone with, but continue.”

“What do you mean continue?  I killed them with magic on a battlefield at my boarding school.  That’s it.”

He looked her impatiently.  “I appended my question with a ‘how’, which implies I want to know the exact method you used to dispatch the villains, little witch.  Do keep up.”

Molly’s mouth tightened into a thin line, and she bit out, “I choked one to death with the same rope spell I bound you with, and then that spell I used on your gun?  The first one, to make it explode? I used that on the head of the second. The effect was similar. Satisfied?” She angrily grabbed her teacup, sloshing a little of the fine liquid over the side.  She took a furious sip and licked her bottom lip.

He stared at her mouth.

He stood up and walked toward her.

She went very still, fingering her wand with one hand and holding her teacup with the other.

He removed her teacup from her hand and put it neatly back on the service.

He put one hand on each arm of the chair and leaned in, the chain shining between their bodies.

His whisper of _how exciting_ was lost against her mouth as he pressed his lips to hers.

He coaxed her into responding, his lips soft and undemanding, his tongue coming out to tease the seam of her mouth.  When she opened under him automatically, he took a sharp breath in and ran his tongue against hers languidly, and she couldn’t help but respond in kind.  It had been a very long time since she’d been kissed, especially like this, and she found the sensation almost overwhelmingly pleasant. As they parted, he took her bottom lip in between his teeth, flesh plumping as it slid from between his sharp incisors.  He leaned back to look at her, his lips damp and slightly rouged, pupils blown out and breathing a little ragged.

She must have looked just as disheveled, because he reached up with one hand to cup the back of her head and angle it every so slightly before going back in to kiss her with a hunger.  She inhaled deeply and he growled against her, vibrations making her arch her back and curl one hand around his neck while he lead her in the kiss.

She’d completely forgotten how good he was at this, and used that as an excuse to not shove him away.

He pressed her back farther and her legs parted without thought, he made to step in between them only to be stopped short by the chain.  It held him, shiny and tight with tension, from advancing any farther.

His spine stiffened and his arms tensed, he pulled his mouth away from hers.  They breathed harshly against each other for a minute, her eyes wide and his heavy-lidded.  He pulled his hand from her head, running it over her neck and down, ghosting over her breasts before pushing against the arm of the chair with the other.  Her arm slid bonelessly off of his shoulders as he loomed over her, evidence of his arousal heavy in his trousers. His eyes were shuttered, and he reached up, giving the chain a violent tug, straightening it, before slowly turning around and settling himself on the couch again.  He made no effort to conceal the bulge in his pants, sitting with his legs apart and his hands on his thighs. He tossed the chain behind his shoulder, letting it snake down his back.

They stared at each other silently, Molly entirely too aware of her hard, sensitive nipples and the dampness between her legs.

He edged his legs slightly farther apart in invitation.

‘If you want me,’ he said with his stance, ‘you have to be the one to take me.’

It also said, ‘It’s your decision.’

She bit her lip and stared at him, a thousand scenarios running through her mind.  He’d more or less assured her that Rosie was safe, but he hadn’t said a thing about anyone else.  He hadn’t said anything specific, now that she thought about it, just that he had wanted to abduct her.  He’d been so vague, she was barely better off now than when they’d started this mess. Without thinking, staring at the growing length in his pants, she said, “Are you trying to distract me?”

He chuckled, a low heavy sound that went right to her core.  “It wasn’t the plan, but if it’s working…I’m trying to be more spontaneous.  Go with the flow.” He did a small thrust with his hips, eyes locked on her. “Is it? Distracting you, that is.”

Standing languidly, Molly made the sound decision that after this, she was casting a truth spell and that would be the end of it.

Pushing the armchair out of his reach with one foot, she muttered a contraceptive charm and tossed her wand to safety.  He stayed still, his hands trembling on his thighs.

Molly pulled the nightgown over her head, dropping it on the floor.  Jim inhaled sharply and gave a low whistle, the outline of his cock clearly visible now through his pants.  She could have sworn she saw it twitch.

She walked confidently to him, long hair streaming down her pale back, and straddled his lap.  His hands went automatically to her thighs, just as firm and silky smooth as he remembered, and he reached around to feel the smooth muscle of her ass, gliding his hands up her back and back down the way they came.  Delighting in the feel of her.

She touched his lips with her finger, bowing her head to hide their faces behind the curtain of her hair.  “This doesn’t change anything.”

He thrust up against her core.  “Of course not.”

They kissed again, tongues matching the rock of their bodies as they rubbed against each other.  His hands were tight on her little waist, almost bruising, one of her hands on his neck and the other clutching the back of the sofa for leverage.  One of his hands ran it’s way down her taut stomach, into the neat patch of hair at the junction of her thighs, and he slipped one finger into her while his thumb found her clit.  She moaned and threw her head back, her pelvis pressing down against him. He’d learned quickly from their time together at Bart’s exactly how to stroke her, and she was already so wet.  He gave her a sharp grin and she was _not_ ashamed at how much wetter it made her.

He slid a second finger into her and licked a path down her jugular vein, biting at her clavicle as she whimpered, bringing her hands to grab his hair.  “Jim…I missed this.” It felt like a confession, almost a betrayal, to say it out loud. When she’d dated Jim from IT, it had been Jim Moriarty that had appeared in her bed.  Sleeping with him had been so easy, so fun, so freeing. She’d never felt mousy with him between her thighs.

He smirked against her shoulder, fucking her with his hand, keeping a steady pace, “Has it been this _delicious_ with anyone else, little witch?”  His hips were matching the rhythm of his hand, and she felt the powerful flex of his thigh muscles beneath her.

She hesitated and he added a third finger, making her back arch as he stretched her, wailing, “N…no!  Nobody else…nobody else has felt this _good._ ”  He made a possessive sound and made her arch her back further so he could lavish her breasts with attention.  Molly closed her eyes and whimpered, hips flexing against his faster.

He picked up the pace, manipulating her clit while his fingers reached for her G-spot, his teeth sitting so close to her neck, “That’s because you’re mine, little witch, Molly-my-Bell, Molly Hooper, your sweet little cunt belongs to James Moriarty.  Nobody else will ever satisfy you.” His deep voice in the shell of her ear sent her straight over the edge, stars exploding behind her eyelids. Her thighs shook and sweat ran down her back as she jerked helplessly against him, chanting his name, her pussy _begging_ for him to fill it.  In the back of her mind, she acknowledged that this was power, this was a hold he had over her and _damn_ but she absolutely did not want to break it.

Jim pressed on her back with one hand, his other pulling out of her to fumble open his fly.  His rock hard cock sprang free, trapped between their bodies. While she was still spasming, he notched the head of his cock against her soaked entrance, slowly pushing his way inside while pulling her closer.  He closed his eyes and moaned, “You’re so wet for me, little witch, so wet, so tight, so _mine_.” And he pushed her down until he bottomed out, as deep as he could possibly go, they both made satisfied sounds as he settled inside of her.  He rolled his hips under her, rubbing her mons against him, staying deep as she tried to come down from orgasm, but he angled her just so to make every roll give her another sharp spike of pleasure.  She whimpered at every thrust, barely able to focus, but she reached behind him to hold onto the couch with both hands, rolling her hips in time with his. She reached down and bit his neck above his collar, tongue licking his skin against the warm metal.  His hips slammed against hers and he pushed her down to grind against him, making needy noises, fingers digging deep into her side.

They looked at each other through heavy eyes, lovers across a battlefield, and she whispered, “I’m yours, Jim Moriarty.”  He groaned and pulled her close, devouring her mouth in a wild kiss, his hips snapping wildly against hers, he wrapped one iron bar of an arm around her waist to hold her in place as he pounded into her. She tried to set a smoother pace, but he was getting close and his hold left her no room to move, his body going tense and sweat beading on his brow.

“Say it again, little witch, tell me you’re mine.” He panted, his free hand tangling in her hair and grabbing the back of her neck, pulling her close so he could suck on her pulse point.

She was getting close too, trying to match his pace to come at the same time.  “I’m yours, Jim Moriarty. I’m _yours_.”  He pulled his hand off her neck, shoving it between them to furiously rub her clit as his cock swelled inside of her, and then she was falling, her pussy milking him as he came in heavy spurts, moaning, “ _Molly_ ,” and they were breathing against each other’s mouths, too caught up to do more than half-heartedly press them together.

As they both came down, he placed soft kisses over her damp face, his hands soothing bruises he’d left on her sides and hips, their breathing matching up and evening out.

She held out one hand and wordlessly summoned her wand, touching it to his mouth and whispering, “Oro Veritas.”

The look of betrayal and resigned respect on his sweat soaked face would stay with her for the rest of her life.

“Why were you in my flat, James Moriarty?”  She dug the tip of her wand into the soft spot under his jaw.

He gritted his teeth and hissed out, “Eurus told me about the coffin.  She took such delight in it, rubbing my face in it, and I couldn’t... You’re mine, not Sherlock’s.  I had you _first._ You’re _mine._  And there was… there was... ”  His eyes went wild, his fingers pressing into her sides painfully, and she recognized the panicked look of a Moriarty who had lost control and Did Not Like It.  He couldn’t seem to spit out the last part, until he growled, “I _had_ to.  I… I had to.”  His gripped tightened to the point where she was sure she was bruising.

Ignoring the pain, she said, “Are there plans in place to hurt any of the people I care about?”

Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut, “Yes.”

“Are those plans actively a threat to any of those people?”

His dark eyes flew open again, and he panted, “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re with me.  The plan was to steal you away from Sherlock.  Threats lined up in case he didn’t want to relinquish you and if you refused to come with me.”  His face was getting redder, and to her surprise, his eyes were getting shiny.

“You really did want to see me because I’m your best girl.”  Her wand lowered a fraction, and she was stunned.

“ _Yes.”_

She slid off of him quickly, his soft cock pulling out of her with a wet ‘pop’.  He sat deshabille, fully clothed but his flaccid penis hanging out of his trousers, his outfit mussed and his face…open.  Vulnerable. Whatever he saw in her face made him grow more unstable, panicking. He reached for her.

“Nobody knows I’m with you.  The Aurors would have Obliviated the crew after interrogation, but that…I have to check on them.  I have to go.” She grabbed her nightgown and ran for the stairs, Moriarty jumping up and running after her, but his chain pulled him back to the sitting area.

“NO!  Molly!!” He yelled after her, grasping at the collar, trying to rip it off his neck.  She heard him kick something over as she pounded up to her room, her thighs burning with exertion.

She dressed quickly in an old set of jeans that were slightly too tight and a faded David Bowie t-shirt, transfiguring an old pair of socks into a pair of ballet flats.  Pulling her mussed hair back into a ponytail, she cast a cleansing charm on herself to remove the smell of sweat and sex. A few small glamours to hide his love bites, then she slid her wand into the waistband of her jeans.

Thumping down the stairs, she saw Moriarty straining to get to her.    He’d stuffed himself back in his pants, but she could still see the damp spots on his placket. “You can’t go back to Sherlock, you’re _MINE!_  I claimed you, and _YOU SAID THAT YOU WERE MINE_!”  He looked caught between killing her and crying.  The truth spell would be making it very difficult for him to control his rapid, raging mood swings.

She came within an arms length away and hesitated, her face crumpling slightly, and she said, “I’ll be back, Jim.  I’ll…I’ll be back soon.” She raised her arm to cast Obliviate, but her weak resolved broke down further. She rushed in and gave him a fierce kiss that he returned with desperation. He tried to grab onto her, but she danced out of his reach.

She paused and looked at him, “Are you going to kill me before this is over?”

His eyes burned and a manic look came over his face, “ _Never_.  You’ve been mine since before you knew me, Molly Hooper, and nobody is ever going to hurt you.  I protect what’s mine. Not even Eurus Holmes could have put Semtex in your flat because I _would have come back from the dead to slit her fucking throat_.” The veins in his neck stood out as he pulled against the chain, trying to reach her.

They locked eyes and she gave him a nod.

“I’ll be back, Jim, I promise.”

“Toby!!” She yelled, running to the door.  Her familiar bounded down the stairs and leapt onto her shoulder, and she slammed the door on Jim’s howls for her to come back.

Getting to the concealed Apparition point, Molly clutched Toby to her to wipe her tears on his soft fur and with a crack like thunder, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am' if I've ever seen one. See you next week. ;)


	5. Homenum Revelio

She whirled into an alley near Baker Street, immediately breaking into silent sobs and leaning heavily against the rough brick.  Toby jumped down and wound his way around her ankles, meowing concernedly.

Breathing heavily through her nose, she buried her hand in his fur and closed her eyes, shaking for a moment.

At least the drive to kill her was something she could anticipate and understand, but these… emotions… were something she hadn’t thought Moriarty capable of feeling.  What did she feel in return? She’d said she was his, but that was just pillow talk. The heat of the moment. Right?

“I can go through this later, yeah Toby?  Let’s make sure everyone is safe first.”

She smoothed her hand over her face and tidied her ponytail, straightened her shirt and cast a Disillusionment charm on Toby before balancing him on her shoulder. Standing up straight, she strode confidently into the street.

The instant her feet went from cobblestone to pavement, an arm caught her elbow as a cheery voice she didn’t recognize rang in her ear, “Oh my, I haven’t seen you since _secondary school_ , I almost didn’t recognize you!  We simply _must_ grab a cuppa.”  Hissed quietly, “Keep walking, you’ve got a warrant out, follow my lead and you’ll be fine.”

Molly nodded tersely, sliding her gaze over to gauge the woman on her elbow and was startled to realize that she did recognize her.  A Ravenclaw, two years above her, who had caught her meandering in a hallway as a firstie and helped her find her classes. Through the years at Hogwarts, they’d sometimes shared the same table at the library and the older witch had always offered advice and critique on Molly’s essays, as well as books and magic puzzles she thought she would enjoy.  Elizabeth Simple, if she remembered correctly. She looked very stressed, her dark hair shot through with silver, and there were bags beneath her sharp blue eyes.

Elizabeth had been the first person to casually drop a book next to her during an intense study session, when first Muggleborn family was slaughtered, on how to make a Wizarding residence unplottable and other handy security spells.  Inside had been a snippet of a map with several Scottish islands circled, and in Elizabeth’s own neat hand, ’ _Stay safe.’_ Molly had trusted her then, and decided to extend that same trust to her now, if a little more cautiously.

Elizabeth cast a subtle Notice-Me-Not charm on the both of them before steering her into an alley two blocks from 221B Baker Street and rapping a quick code with her wand on a broken door leaning against the alley wall, which she then opened to reveal a small, dimly lit room before shoving Molly inside.

 

* * *

 

As soon as she regained her footing, Toby leaping off her shoulder and sniffing around the room, Molly whirled around and stepped back, startled by how closely Elizabeth had invaded her personal space.  The older witch’s eyes were wild and overlarge, slightly manic as they roved over her.

Frantically, she started roughly patting Molly down, slapping her sides and hips.  “Where’s your _wand_ , idiot girl?!”

Molly whipped it out of her waistband, her white-knuckled grip making her hand shake ever so slightly.  “Elizabeth, what’s going on? A warrant, for me?” It was one of her biggest fears, all of this attention exposing her secrets, and it was all happening while she was tucked away on Muckle Skerry, safe in her bright blue little house with a criminal consultant chained to her living room floor.

Elizabeth started casting wards, along with a hasty Muffliato, and she set a Sneak-o-scope on the rickety table in the middle of the room.  She also pulled a Foe Glass out of her pocket and set it up with short, sharp movements that spoke of years of practice. Molly looked in and saw a surprising amount of blurry shapes, but no faces.

“Molly, do you know who Jim Moriarty is?”  Elizabeth’s voice was high and tight.

Molly went white and squeaked out, “How do _you_ know who he is?”

Cursing, Elizabeth kicked a bit of debris across the room.  “Merlin, Molly. How could you get mixed up in all of this? He was in your _flat?_  Don’t tell me where you Apparated to, but based on the statements we got from those horrid Muggles, you hit him with a _Stupefy_ and then whisked him away.  Do you even know who he _is?”_

“Of course, I know,” she hissed, “I dated him before I found out he was a criminal.”  Elizabeth’s face went ashen and she had to sit down. “But I’ve been working with Sherlock Holmes for years, Elizabeth.   How could I not know who James Moriarty is? The _Stupefy_ was a mistake, a costly one, but I took him away to find out what he knew.”  Molly’s eyes turned pleading, “I worked so hard to make sure Sherlock and Mycroft never knew that I was a witch, all this time.  I’ve ruined that, I know, they must have already been told, but I can’t be their… their tool. Their means to an end. I want to make sure Sherlock is safe, and everyone else, but I… I can’t give him back.  Not right now.”

Molly knew she rambling, and Elizabeth was starting to look pained.  “You’re right. They told Mycroft. He’s…not happy. Not Sherlock, he doesn’t have clearance, but they’ve put a temporary tracker on him and a junior Auror to monitor him remotely.  You’re officially wanted for questioning for conspiracy to commit terrorist acts by the British government and the Ministry of Magic. Since you Apparated away with Moriarty, it’s being taken that you’re his accomplice.”  Elizabeth rubbed forehead. “Molly, I don’t know how to say this, but Moriarty has ties to Death Eater sympathizers. His organization has been been crossing over into the Wizarding world. We have reason to suspect Moriarty isn’t aware, but he’s folded a dark Wizard into his ranks that’s using his influence to…”  Elizabeth closed her eyes and paused before slowly opening then again. Her expression was bleak. She leveled her stare at Molly, “Two Muggleborns have vanished and there’s been threats. Letters, fliers, a few Muggleborns in prominent positions waking up to find that their homes have been vandalized with graffiti.  One of the Muggleborns that’s been taken is only ten. A child without a wand. Whoever this is, they have access to Hogwarts and the Student Register. We don’t have any bodies, but it doesn’t look good.” The Sneak-o-scope flashed once, and a shape moved across the Foe Glass.

“We’re out of time,” Elizabeth murmured.  “You have to Apparate back. Wherever this place is, it’s well hidden.  We can’t find either one of you. Keep it up, and _stay there._ We’ll keep your friends safe, I promise.”  She pulled a golden coin out of her pocket, casting Geminio and tossing it to her.  “A copy of my old Dumbledore’s Army Galleon, this one will only contact me. Ask Moriarty about a man who goes by Polecat.  He has a scar under his left eye like a star. Tell him who’s disappeared and see if he can give you any information. Contact me at midnight if you have anything.”  As a last thought, she pulled out a rectangle the size of a matchbox and tossed it to her. “A book on memory charms and how to undo them. It’s highly likely he’s been Obliviated.”

The Sneak-o-scope whistled sharply, and Elizabeth tossed Toby into her arms.  “Curse me. Just enough to knock me out. And then _go_.”

Molly cast a wordless Expelliarmus, dodging the other woman’s wand as it flew toward her, and then a Stupefy, just hard enough to send her across the room but not hard enough to do lasting damage.  The Sneak-o-scope started screaming, and the door rattled on it’s hinges.

Holding tightly to Toby, Molly Apparated right as the door fell in.

 

* * *

 

Back on the island, the first thing Molly did was curl into a ball and cry, turning her face into the damp earth beneath her.  It smelled faintly of the sea, so different from the city smells of London. It soothed her slightly, as the salt of her own sadness mingled with that of the ocean in the dirt.

Toby purred and licked her cheeks, nuzzling her and meowing.

She sobbed until she ran out of tears and the sun had moved across the sky, sinking below the horizon.

She didn’t want to do this.  She didn’t want to do any of this.  Solving Muggle crimes were for people like Sherlock and Lestrade.  Solving magical crimes were for people like the famous Harry Potter or Alastor Moody.  People of skill and discipline. People who excelled under pressure. And now, she had to go explain to Moriarty that there was a very high chance he’d been under magical influence, or had pieces of his memory removed, and she had no idea how long it had been going on and if she could put him back to rights.

He’d either be delighted to have a wizard in his network, no matter how dark, or he’d be furious enough at being tampered with that he’d choke.  Possibly both.

Neither of those options spoke well for her.

Pulling herself up off the ground, wiping her nose on the edge of her shirt, Molly suddenly felt very tired.  Maybe speaking to Moriarty could wait.

As she walked back up to the house, a few final tears fell down her face.

Officially, her life in the Muggle world was over.  

A warrant, for her, as Moriarty’s accomplice.  She wished she could send word to Sherlock, he was probably mildly concerned about her, and more concerned about the lack of Moriarty on his doorstep, but the next time she looked at Sherlock it would be as a witch.  Never again would she stand face to face with Sherlock as a Muggle woman that pined over him.

Molly the pathologist may as well have died on the floor of her flat three days ago.  There was no coming back from this. Mycroft would have her just as chained as Moriarty was if he could catch her.  She couldn’t just stay here, either, not forever. Not if someone was targeting Muggleborn children who hadn’t even gotten their letters yet and there was something she could do about it.

Molly straightened her spine and blinked back the tears.  Just because she wasn’t famous, just because she wasn’t a genius, that didn’t mean she couldn’t change something.  That didn’t mean she couldn’t save those more helpless than her. 

As she opened the door, she felt a calm wash over her.  It felt like the start of something new, and for the first time Molly stopped trying to run from the magic inside of her.  Molly Hooper the Muggle stayed behind as a ghost on the grounds, and Molly Hooper the Witch stepped across the threshold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for this week! See you next Monday. For my American readers, enjoy Thanksgiving!


	6. Protega Totalum

Moriarty didn’t seem to have realized her inner epiphany.

He sat perfectly still on the couch, like a panther in shadow.  His expression was completely smooth. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, blood under his nails and the skin around his collar torn up.  Around where his chain was anchored to the floor, deep gouges in the wood.

They stared at each other for far too long.

She looked away first.

Leaving him on the couch, she went to the larder and quietly arranged a plate of food for him.  It was late for dinner at Hogwarts, so it was cold sandwiches and biscuits. She made him a hot cup of tea and set a Dreamless Sleep and a healing potion on the tray.  Bringing it out, she set the plate on the end table that had survived whatever fit of temper he’d had. His eyes flicked between her and the tray, his face impassive.

She nodded at him and turned, silently making her way up the stairs.

When she was halfway up, his voice, tight, angry, hard, followed her, “We’re going to talk tomorrow.”

Molly’s voice, tired and sad, and just as hard, “Yeah, we are.”

Toby was already curled up on her comforter when she locked her door.

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 

She was ripped out her slumber three hours later by a burning sensation on her hip.

Oh.  Right.  The coin.

Pulling it out of her front pocket, Molly flicked her wand and muttered, _“Lumos Minimus.”_  A soft white ball of light hovered above the bed.

‘ANYTHING?’

Molly pressed her face into her pillow, not even wanting to look as she tapped her wand to the coin.

‘NOT YET’

A minute, then ‘HURRY’.

She set the coin on the nightstand, dismissed the light and fell back into her dreams immediately.  They involved Jim’s tongue and her hands slowly pulling on the chain around his neck while he bit at her thighs.

 

* * *

 

The morning was awkward.  Jim was still sleeping when she came down, but she was relieved to see that he’d eaten all of the food she’d left and taken the potions.  She cast a soft cleansing charm over him, satisfied when the dried blood fell away to reveal smooth skin.

She pulled out the breakfast dishes from the larder, changing them for Jim’s dirty ones from yesterday.  

She spread marmalade over her toast absently, coming out to lean against the wall and eat while looking at his relaxed form.  She needed to figure out what to say when he woke up.

‘Hey, let me root around in your head to see if anything’s amiss’ didn’t seem like the best opener.

He hadn’t moved, or even opened his eyes, but his deep voice, gravelly with sleep, rose out of him, “It’s rude to stare.”  His nostrils flared, he frowned and fought to open one eye. “It’s also rude to start breakfast without your guest.”

She shrugged.  “Hungry?”

He turned his face away with a sigh.  “No, not really.”

“Then no harm done.”

She finished her toast in the kitchen and vanished back upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Scrubbing her hands through her hair, she looked at the four closed doors in the hallway, hers the only one that was open.  She wanted to give Moriarty a peace offering, clothes to wear while his suit was actually laundered. So he could shower, she could take his clothes, he could wear fresh ones.  Her clothes wouldn’t fit, and she couldn’t see him agreeing to wear her school robe, so that meant she had to take from Zachary or Jacob.

“They’re dead, Molly Hooper, and you deal better with dead people than live ones.”  Jacob had been closest to Jim in stature, so she muttered an apology while opening his door.

The room contained the same furnishings as hers, they’d all gotten identical furniture to save time, but there was little touches of Jacob everywhere.  Still some dusty laundry on the floor, a half-finished experimental radio in pieces on his table, a Hollyhead Harpies poster on the wall. A framed photo of… her on his dresser.  From the Yule Ball, when they’d gone as a group. The picture showed her when she wasn’t looking, a moment of relaxation, her image simply blinking, breathing, and on a loop, giving a half-smile to someone off camera.  The yellow and pink charmed butterfly clips sat in her braided crown, their glittered wings catching the light over and over. The frame was nice, a heavy silver.

She found herself with a lump in her throat.

The frame was smudged, the glass showing signs of someone having often stroked where her smile sat.

She set the picture down exactly where it had been, getting the feeling she’d violated something very private, and grabbed a soft white shirt and black Muggle sweatpants out of his drawers.

She shut the door to the room with a sense of finality.

 

* * *

 

When she went downstairs, Moriarty was still laying on his back, gazing at the ceiling.

“Finally come to talk, have you?”

She held up the clothes. “Not yet.  Fancy a shower?”

He eyed her and sat up.  “Only if you’ll join me.”

Molly blushed.  “I hardly think that’s…”

“Appropriate?” He spat at her.  “You’re the reason I’m so covered in _bodily fluids_ , Molly-my-Bell.  I’m only asking for a little help to get clean.  We can multitask. Talk in the shower.” He stood and yanked on his chain, staring at her darkly.

She pursed her lips, but grabbed his leash, leading him upstairs.

When in the bathroom, Molly pointed out the laundry basket and turned away when he undressed.  She heard the rustle of clothes and a zipper, then a heat behind her.

“Are you shy, little witch?  I seem to recall a conversation where you claimed to not be _impressed._ ”  She turned around and tried very hard to not look down, looking at him in the face.  He kept eye contact and stepped closer, a slightly manic, fascinated look on his face.  “You’ve had me inside of you a few times, Molly Hooper, why the embarrassment now? Is this an ordinary person thing?”

She whispered, dismayed with herself, “Can you please turn around so I can get undressed?”

Jim looked confused, eyeing her up and down before shrugging and opening the shower door.  “Suit yourself.”

She slowly stripped off the nightgown and Jim didn’t look behind him once.

He went to pull Zachary’s green knob and she jumped in to slam her hand on his wrist.   “I should tell you what those do.” He lifted his arm and she let her hand drop from his wrist.  “Just as a warning, you should only touch things in this house that I’ve told you are safe. There could be… consequences.  Each color is a soap for one of my mates. Mine is the pink one,” he rolled his eyes, but paid attention as she listed each of the knobs what soap they produced.  When she got to Jacob’s, she hesitated. He noticed but didn’t say anything. “And then the blue one belonged to Jacob. He, uh, he had cedar and rain.” She paused, touching the blue knob with one fingernail.  She noticed Jim’s hand forming a tight fist.

She’d spent too long on Jacob’s, reminiscing.  The morning was still getting to her, she could imagine him having gently touched the mouth of the picture every morning, gathering courage to do it to her one day.  She shook her head, clearing her thoughts before Moriarty could make a snide comment. “I made these formulas, so they’re high quality. The silver knob is water, always the perfect temperature, and pulling the knob turns it to soap.  Pushing the knob back in turns it back to water. We’re here together for the first time, so you can see how I do it.”

She pulled the silver knob and warm water streamed over the both of them.  She closed her eyes and relaxed instantly. The heat soaked into her muscles and she forgot Jim was there until one of his hands found it’s way down her flat belly, his chest coming up to her back and his mouth nibbling delicately on her ear.  She tensed, but when his hand stayed on her stomach and he shifted his growing length away from her, she relaxed into him. His touch was so gentle, just slight stroking, and she could feel herself starting to react. She let herself forget, just for a moment, that this was a man who could snap her neck just as easily as he was pressing hot, open mouthed kisses onto it.

They didn’t say anything or move for a long moment, Jim nuzzling her neck and ear in turns.  She instinctively pushed her bottom closer to his hips, and he gladly pushed back, rubbing himself against her.  She tilted her hips back ever so slightly in invitation before she could think better of it, he rolled his in acceptance, and sunk into her to the hilt.  He let out a breath and she drew it in, he pushed her forward to brace herself against the shower wall and then proceeded to give her the most gentle sexual experience she’d had in her life.

He stroked in and out, pressing on her clit with one clever hand until she came, putting his hands over hers and molding his body against her back, and when he tipped over he kissed the nape of her neck and groaned her name as he spilled himself inside of her.

He pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss to her shoulder and stepped back, and she found herself missing the length of him inside of her as soon as it was gone.  He reached over to pull the pink knob, visibly startled when the lurid fuschia foam flooded out of the showerhead. She laughed and kissed him on the bicep.

Moriarty gave her a soft grin that she returned.  They were both silent as they scrubbed each other’s backs, Moriarty’s hands roving around her body appreciatively, and when they rinsed off she took the opportunity to openly ogle his ass and his genitalia.  He stood straight and proud, and she found herself returning the wink he threw her way.

As soon as they got out of the shower, he muttered, “How am I going to dry under this thing?”  She looked over her shoulder to see him trying to slip a finger between the collar and his skin.  It soured her mood instantly and made her mouth twist down into a vicious frown. She wordlessly handed him a fluffy towel and they dried off without look at each other.  

Had that been some sweet to go with the sour?

If he was trying to manipulate her, at least he was good at it.

 

* * *

 

By the time they sat downstairs, Jim in the slightly-too-large sweats and Molly in an oversized t-shirt she’d grabbed from Zach’s room, the open affection he’d shown in the shower was hidden behind shuttered eyes.

She attached his chain to the floor.  Right in the middle of the gouges left by his fingernails.  She noticed him flex his hand for a second, a phantom pain.

She sat next to him on the couch this time, one of them at each end.

“Jim, do you remember the madman I told you about?  The reason my mates and I built this place?”

He looked around and leveled her with a flat stare.  “Of course. I’m not as simple as Sherlock.”

Ignoring the dig about her friend, she continued.  “He was called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“That’s quite the mouthful.  Moriarty is a much better villain moniker, rolls right off the tongue.”  He crossed his arms.

Molly rolled her eyes.  “Indeed. I’d say the real name, but there was a tag on that for awhile, and I don’t want to risk it.  He had followers. A lot of followers, mostly pureblood, people of wizarding parentage, who thought that too many ‘Mudbloods’, as we were called,” and Moriarty gave a fierce scowl at that, “would destroy their delightful Wizarding culture or some nonsense.  Fear of erasure, of change, a pathological need for hierarchy that put ‘pureblood’ on top, you can see where I’m going.” He raised his chin in acknowledgement. “He was defeated at the end of the war, but not all of his followers were caught.”

Jim stiffened.

“An Auror, one who used to go to school with me.  She intercepted me as I was going to Sherlock’s. She’s… she liked me.  At school. She wanted to warn me.”

He turned his head toward her, expression cold.

“You don’t know the Wizarding world, James Moriarty, but the Wizarding world knows you.”

His expression started to turn to a cat presented with fresh cream.  Nothing got to this man like his ego, she swore.

“They think a dark wizard, someone powerful but out of the public eye, infiltrated your organization.”

His expression shuttered again.  Mood swings, this one. She was starting to get nervous.

“And…and…they think you may have been magically coerced, if not outright controlled, by this wizard to help start...for your network to sponsor…taking Muggleborns and resume Death Eater terrorist activities…”

Jim stood abruptly.  He adjusted his clothing, and from the automatic motions of his hands, she could tell he lamented his casual attire.  His lack of Westwood armor, his divine Gucci protection. He looked too furious to speak. His hands itched for something to demolish, but she’d destroyed his weapons.  He wanted to pace, but she’d tethered him to one place by a leash. He wanted to hurt her, but the sharp bite of _Crucio_ still rang in his head and slithered down his spine when he thought about it.  She had so much power, and still took all of his.

Moriarty did the only thing he could.  He punched a hole in the wall and screamed, “OUT.  GET OUT.”

She rushed backwards as he stalked her, reveling in her fear, until the leash pulled violently on his collar and it made him _roar_ his frustration.

He needed _power_.  He required _control_.

“Get out of my fucking face,” he _hissed_ at her.

The look on her face was so gratifying, the fear, he smiled his most frightening smile and she ran out of the house, slamming the door after her.

 

* * *

 

Molly ran into the garden, adrenaline spiking through her veins.  She couldn’t leave the wards even as she longed to Apparate as far away from this place as she could make it in one jump, but Jim… Jim had terrified her.

She knew he would take the idea that he’d been completely powerless badly, but not like that.

Sometimes, she forgot he was a predator.

With one look, he’d reduced her to Molly the Muggle.  Molly the Mouse. Prey.

In that minute, she doubted she’d ever take that collar off.

Composing herself, she held her wand and reminded herself.  “Are you a witch or aren’t you, Molly Hooper? You have a wand, he’s chained in the middle of the room.  Just...don’t go near him. But you have to get him to talk. You have to.” With a slight hitch her voice, she said, “There’s no _time_.”

She opened the door again, to a very angry Jim Moriarty.

He snarled at her, stepping toward her in a menacing way, and she leveled her wand at him.  “Who is Polecat, Jim?”

He was caught off guard, blinking rapidly.  “How do you know that name?”

“My contact, she told me to ask you.  She said he’d have a scar under one eye.  Shaped like a star.” Molly didn’t lower her wand, even as Moriarty’s attention focused inward and he became still.

“As a rule, little witch, I don’t talk about my associates.  But because it’s you, my best girl, I’ll let you in. Love to see you taking an interest in the business.” Jim was talking quickly, his hands suddenly shoved in the pockets of the too large pants as he rocked back on his bare heels, “Polecat, he was strange.  He wanted to be sponsored to drive a fear campaign, but the parameters were so vague and his plan was so dull, just a few kidnappings and some letters sent to specific people. Nothing flashy, no murder mentioned, nothing clever. Plain. Boring. Ordinary. I told him…” he cut off abruptly.

The silence stretched.

“I told him…” Jim’s face froze and he concentrated.

“Jim.”  She said his name softly, and his eyes were still far away, but they came to focus on her.  “I’m pretty sure Polecat is a wizard. I need to find out what he did to you.”

She looked at his slightly glazed expression and started talking to herself.  “Polecat either has very sloppy wandwork or he wanted you to remember the fact that he tampered with your mind.  When modifying memories, it’s bad form to just leave a hole. With little imagination and less skill, even second or third year student could make up a false memory to fit neatly into the slot left behind by the original.  I’ve never performed Legilimancy, I don’t own a Pensive, I only really know about memory charms in theory.” She remembered the book Elizabeth had handed her.

“I’ll be right back.”  He barely acknowledged her, and she almost said ‘Wait right here,’ but choked it back at the last second.

The first thing she noticed was the brilliantly lit up coin that was slowly burning a hole on her night stand.  She tapped it and messages started flying across the surface. ‘WHERE ARE YOU’ ‘ANY NEWS?’ ‘WHAT’S HAPPENING’ ‘HURRY’ ‘HURRY’ ‘HURRY’ ‘HELP’ ‘SOS’ ‘YOU’RE COMPROMISED’ ‘GET OUT’ ‘HURRY’ ‘SOON’ ‘POLECAT’

Molly’s face turned bone white as she read the last message.

‘MUCKLE SKERRY’

The name of the island they were on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this week! I hope you enjoyed it.


	7. Apparate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence and subjugation in this chapter!

Molly hauled her trunk out of her wardrobe and started throwing shrinking and packing charms on everything.  The potions and elixirs, her clothes, Jacob’s clothes, all of the books from everyone’s rooms, the dirty clothes in the bathroom, all of the potions supplies, all of it got stasis charms and unbreakable spells applied to it and she cast three different featherweight charms on her trunk, bringing it to levitate behind her, items still soaring into it, as she bounded down the stairs.

She frantically unhooked Moriarty’s chain, shoving the length at him, and he snapped out of his mind, able to tell that something had gone horribly wrong.  “Are we compromised?”

She laughed nervously, “Am I that transparent?”

“Only because half of the house is flying into that box behind you.”  He looked around the house, “Do you have any documents? Money? Weapons?  Get all of it with your spells, little witch.”

More items flew into the trunk, and when she shouted, “ _Accio_ money!” She absolutely did not expect the heavy bags of gold to fly from everyone’s rooms and hit the trunk with a huge ‘thunk’.  She added another featherweight charm just in case.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, obviously not used to not having anything to do.  “Where’s your second bolthole?”

Panicking, Molly gave a high pitched laugh as she selected one group photo, she had no illusions about what would happen to this place after it was breached, from the wall and chucked it into the trunk as well.  With a flick, she grabbed the photo from upstairs, Jacob’s photo of her, and it soared past Moriarty too fast for him to see what it was. “We built this when we were 15, 16 years old, Jim. Not exactly a lot of time to build two!”

“What about your agent?  Your friend?” He was looking worried, and that made her panic more.

“She’s compromised too, I’m sure of it.”  Molly felt her eyes go damp, “What are we going to do, Jim?  Where are we going to go? All of Wizarding Britain and Scotland Yard is looking for us.”

Toby bounded toward her and jumped onto her shoulder, digging his claws in and hissing.

At that moment, something huge and powerful rocked the wards to their very foundation.

Molly screamed, shoved Toby into Jim’s arms, put one hand on the trunk handle, slamming the lid closed, and one arm around Jim’s waist, him barely having enough time to wrap his arm around her as well, and they Apparated away just as the wards fell and a dozen curses blew out the walls of the one last safe space in her life.

 

* * *

 

Side along Apparition was not one of her favorite ways to travel.  It was better when the other person was unconscious, because Jim was absolutely not used to it and was currently revisiting everything in his stomach behind a bush.

The Malvern Hills were probably not the best place to be, too populated and too touristy, but she’d panicked and it was the first place that came to mind.  She’d been with her parents every summer as a child, until her magic manifested and then, well...family vacations became strained, unhappy things.

She wasn’t feeling so well herself, but she placed a hand on his back and whispered, “Jim, we have to go.  And I think…I think the name of the person we were talking about is a trap. A trigger. I think we should call him…” She blanked for a second before blurting out, “Kitten.”

He groaned and looked back at her. “Stop before you make me more sick.”

“Jim, I’m really not kidding.  There could be a dozen ways my wards were breached, not the least of which would be triggering a trapped word or phrase.  It might be an item, I’m going to have to comb through everything and check it for something that doesn’t belong. Until I can know for sure what it was, we have to keep on the move.”

He staggered forward, stopped and said, “How do you even know that?”

She blinked at him.  “The war, doofus. Remember, I went through that whole genocidal terrorist war the insane guy waged against school children?  That was a tactic.” She got quiet, “There’s a lot of tactics. He _hunted_ us.”  For the rest of her life, she’d never forget the sheer terror of being stalked like an animal through the woods.

Picking up the trunk, she started walking.  “We have a long way to go, and time is short. I’ll try to think of somewhere to bunk down for the night.”

He muttered his assent while trying to keep pace.  “Could I have some shoes, perhaps? And would you like some pants, little witch?  Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Loooovely view. Don’t particularly want anyone else to have the privilege of seeing it, though.”

Startled, she looked down.  She’d forgotten they were in their lounge wear, neither one of them wearing shoes and he was right, she was still only wearing the large t-shirt she’d nicked from Zachary’s closet.

“Why are we in the forest anyway?  Why not a nice sunny island? With beaches and drinks with umbrellas?”

“The forest is good for hiding. We knew a few groups of us who ran into the Forest of Dean, during the war.  When so many of us had to hide. This is not the best forest, I’ll give you that. I can’t get us to a tropical island in one jump.  Have you heard of ‘splinching’?”

He looked at her warily. “No, but it sounds unpleasant.”

She looked at him with thinly veiled displeasure on her face.  “It’s when you have an accident while Apparating. You can leave pieces of yourself, or anyone with you, just kind of scattered along the path from here to there.”

She’d never seen Moriarty look so pale.

She sat by the side of the road and opened the trunk.  She waved her wand over it, closing her eyes and concentrating.  Toby curled up at her feet.

Moriarty tapped his bare foot nervously.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying something.” She said absently, looking for a feeling of wrongness.  Something here didn’t belong, something here might be linking them back to someone else.  It might have been ‘Polecat’, what drew danger to them like a beacon, but it would be absolutely foolish to not look at every item in her possession.

There was something.

A feeling.

A twinge.

She concentrated on it, and cautiously summoned whatever it was out of the trunk.

There was rustle of fabric and there, sitting neatly in the middle of her palm, was the gold magpie ring Moriarty had been wearing when she’d abducted him.  It looked different than it had when she pulled it off his finger. It had started to blacken, looking corroded from the inside out. It felt…evil. It had been a perfectly normal, dead, non-magical ring just the other day.  This was a crafty bit of time-release spellwork, or something slightly more sinister.

“Jim.” She used a sharp tone of voice that got his attention immediately.  “What is this? Where did you get it?”

Jim stared at it uncomfortably.  “…I don’t remember.”

Molly cursed and slammed the lid of her trunk shut.  Throwing the ring as far into the forest as she could, she shoved Toby into Moriarty’s arms again, held onto the trunk handle, and Apparated in time to hear three different pops and feel a hex shoot through her shoulder and into Moriarty’s side.

 

* * *

 

Jim wasn’t screaming, but his face was white and his breathing was very labored.  His hand was pressed to his side. Higher up, almost his chest, almost his heart.

There was blood.  A lot of blood. His and hers.

Her shoulder was a mess of blood and bone.  She really didn’t want to look at it.

She’d Apparated them to Cathole Cave in Wales, knowing it was most likely to be abandoned and gated off.  She’d been once, in Muggle college, before they had added the iron grill that stretched across the entrance.

The first thing she did was throw up wards.   _Cave Inimicum, Protego Totalum, Repello Muggletum_ , and then she had to stop before the pain made her faint.

Throwing open the lid of the trunk, she shoved around before pulling out the bag full of potions, resizing it with a shaky tap of her wand.

Jim visibly gathered himself, shoved the pain to the back of his mind, stood up and strode over to her.  “This isn’t the worst wound I’ve had, little witch, but yours is certainly the worst I’ve seen without threatening someone beforehand.  Let me help.”

She was silent, lips thin, as she rooted around in the bag and shoved a handful of potions at him.  “Take these.”

He cupped the little bottles in his hands, rolling them around and admiring the colors.  “What are they?”

She threw him a dirty look and hissed around the pain.  “Painkiller. Blood replenisher. Something to make the tissue knit itself back together again.  Stimulants to keep you going. _Take them_.”

He shoved them back at her.  “You first.”

Molly peeled her lips back from her teeth.  “You’re a Muggle, Jim, and that means that in this world you’re my responsibility.   _Take the fucking potions before I make you.”_ The way her wand swayed her hand made the threat a little less intimidating.

He narrowed his eyes.  “You’re about to fall over and I can see your rotator cuff.  Also, I don’t appreciate the implication that I need to be someone’s ‘responsibility’.”

She gave a shrieking laugh while rooting around for more potions.  “In the _Muggle_ world, Jim Moriarty, you’re a force to be reckoned with.  I have no doubt about that. You could have killed me so easily, any time it suited you.  You’re one of the best, probably smarter than Sherlock and Mycroft combined, but you _aren’t in_ the Muggle world any longer.”

She had to stop and throw back a painkilling potion before she could continue.

“You’re _here_ , in the Wizarding world, with me, and in case you haven’t gotten it yet, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re _nothing_.  You can’t do anything against a wand, you aren’t a threat, you are barely better than a newborn _baby_.  If I don’t carry you, you _die_.”

She took a blood replenisher followed by a stimulant.

“There will always be a gap between us, Moriarty, that no amount of _plots_ or _manipulation_ or even _really good sex_ could fill.  You need me to survive this, but I…” She closed her eyes, entire body tensing as a wave of pain swept over her.  She straightened slowly and looked at him, their eyes meeting. His face was completely blank, eyes shuttered. “In the your world, you’re the devil in a Westwood suit.  In my world, you’re just another Muggle.”

They stared at each other for five minutes, Jim’s face as cold as she’d ever seen it.

Keeping eye contact, he popped the top of each potion and drank it.  He dropped the empty bottles back in the trunk and walked as far away from her as the cave would let him.

“ _No._ ”  Her voice was low and hard.

He froze in mid stride, but when he turned his head back to her, she got the sense that nobody in his life had disrespected him this badly and lived to tell the tale.

“Come back here and lift up your shirt.  Show me your side.” She beckoned him with her wand, her tone booking no argument.

“What if I say no, Molly Hooper? Are you going to _force_ me?”  He sneered.

Softly, with eyes glazed by pain, she said, “If I absolutely have to.”  She held up her wand. No menace, no outright threat, just a fact. If she had to, there was no defense he could possibly offer that wouldn’t be laughable.

His eyes went dark, angry, and if he was a snake he would have struck her.  “Then do it.”

Holding out her wand, a part of her far away, behind the veil of _agony_ that was her shoulder and the driving need to fix the vulnerable before she fixed herself, was screaming at her to stop, that this was too far, that she was turning into something that would have made her 16 year old self cower, Molly summoned the end of the chain she had used to bind him, attached to the collar she’d made to subjugate him, and _dragged_ him to her.  He leaned back and tried to fight, but his side must have hurt worse than he let on.  His shirt was bloody on one side, his face was sweating, and he looked positively murderous.

Molly was tired.  She was in pain. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to be on the run, and she didn’t to see Jim so reduced, but she was frightened, she was hunted, and she just needed him to cooperate so she could keep him safe.

Molly Hooper desperately wanted to keep James Moriarty safe.

She roughly pulled up his shirt and he didn’t lift a finger to help her.  The wound was still bruised, but she could see it knitting together. She ran a basic diagnostic spell over the area and was relieved to see it was mostly tissue damage, no organs ruptured and no bones broken.  He was going to be fine. He was going to be sore for a day or two, but he’d _live._

Molly found her eyes swimming with tears as she ran her hand over his warm skin.  His heartbeat was strong and steady, if a little fast. She leaned in and gently rested her forehead against his chest, her throat full of some unnamed emotion.  He didn’t push her away, but he didn’t embrace her. He didn’t move at all.

In a small voice, thick with tears, she whispered, “You could have _died.”_

She started to sob, large heaving cries that shook her entire body and made her shoulder ache, but she couldn’t stop herself. She clung to him, hands fisted in his shirt, shaking.

Eventually, he moved his hand to her back to rub circles between her shoulder blades before slowly pulling her away.

He still didn’t look happy, but he touched her cheek.

She softly said, “You’re weak, Jim, in this world if you don’t wield a wand then you’ll always be vulnerable, but you’re…you’re mine.  I’ll protect you.” She said it like a vow, and he got a gleam of something that might have been pity and might have been victory in his eye.

He pulled one of the healing potions from her hand and opened it, tipping it to her mouth.  She took a grateful mouthful and he brushed his lips over her forehead.

She set about fixing her shoulder.

The hex hadn’t left any residue, but the area it had hit combined with the centrifugal force of the apparition had cause significant damage.  Probably a slicing or blasting hex judging by the clean mark on Jim’s side, not a time release curse that caused further damage the longer it sat in the body.

Molly awkwardly aimed her wand at her shoulder, using a gentle Aquamenti to clean out any debris and loose shards of bone.  She hissed, but Jim had moved to the front of the cave and was staring absently out into the evening. He didn’t react to her soft sounds of pain.

The sun crept below the horizon and she was sweating by the time she was done.

Molly took another blood replenisher, another healing potion and pocketed a Dreamless Sleep.

Conjuring a bandage, she flicked her wand to have it affix to her slowly-knitting-back-together shoulder as well as was possible, better than a Muggle bandage would have been able to.

She walked up to Moriarty and stood quietly next to him, staring out into the night.  He didn’t acknowledge her.

Molly cleared her throat, “I’m…sorry.  For earlier. Not for what I said, it was mostly true, but for how I said it.”  He stayed staring straight forward.

She sighed, “I was terrified.  I…Jim, I…I care. About you. If you die while I’m with you, it’s going to be my fault.”  That earned her a head tilt in her direction.

“There’s always this imbalance of power in magical and Muggle relationships.  Talking with my halfblooded mates, it seemed like the struggle gets too much for most and they end in divorce or separation or…in a few cases…death.  Not that we’re _together_ together, not really, but we are in this as a pair.  The dynamic still applies.” Her eyes turned wet and she scrubbed at them.  She hated how often she’d needed to cry lately. “The people that are after us only want you for your connections.  We already have evidence that they’ve played with your mind. If we were caught, Jim…” He looked at her, his eyes full of…something.  “I learned entirely too much about torture and the special kind of hell wizards wreck on each other using magic during the war. I helped take care of the bodies after they were found and some of them would have curled your toes, the uses of curse that were used, the _pain_ some of these people must have been in…”

She took a breath and straightened.  “If they caught us, I’d consider it a mercy to hit you with an Avada Kedavra.”

Jim spoke for the first time in hours, “And what, pray tell, is that silly sounding spell?”

Molly couldn’t help her laugh that turned into a sob.

 

* * *

 

Later, after she’d unpacked the bedding and mattress she’d hastily shrunk and shoved in the chest, and uncorked the Dreamless Sleep like a fine wine, she rubbed her eyes and froze.

There was only one bed.

She’d taken James Moriarty into her body on no less than five occasions, but she had only slept in a bed with Jim from IT after the first time.  The other two with him had been fast and hard, once in an empty office and once in the morgue. They’d never shared a bed again.

She didn’t…she didn’t feel _bad_ about that.  James Moriarty was dangerous in his own way.  As they slept, he could break her wand, slit her throat, wrap that unbreakable chain around her neck and choke her like she'd done to another man a lifetime ago who’s details she couldn’t pull up as hard she could thought about it, and she didn’t peg herself as the type of person to forget about people she’d killed but…here she was.

Molly Hooper would have fucked James Moriarty in this bed if she’d had a couch to banish him to afterwards.

It was a little insane to think that they’d had sex in the shower that morning.

She’d swept him away from her home four days ago.

She’d forgotten how intelligent he was, how he was the man who had stood toe to toe with Sherlock and almost won (would have won, if she hadn’t been on Sherlock’s side but she absolutely could not think about that right now) until he snorted, disrupting her thoughts, and said, “All of that talk, all of that bragging about how dangerous you are and how weak and small and _worthless_ I am, and you are terrified I’m going to kill you in your sleep, aren’t you?”

She looked over to his knowing eyes.  “It’s nice to be taken seriously. I mean, I knew you were afraid of me,” he tugged on his leash that she still wouldn’t consider removing, “and I knew you weren’t necessarily enjoying making me almost a slave, which has been fun at times, but dear Molly, I thought my forced confession only yesterday would have let you know that I have absolutely no intention of killing you any time soon.”

He strode over to her and cupped her jaw in his hand.  “You were interesting before, a timid little thing cracking open skulls and digging around in someone’s center mass, and with magic you’ve become _fascinating_.  Irreplaceable, really.  I’m a _consulting_ criminal, Molly, which means my strength is in tactics and planning, not brute force.  Given what I’ve seen out of you, that’s your skillset. You’re just so _ruthless_ when you want to be, Molly Hooper.  Your morality is as changeable as my mood.  The one thing I can be sure of right now is that you’ll stand between me and the world, and if anyone is going to kill me it’s going to be my little _witch_.”

He kissed her long and slow, careful of her shoulder and his still sore side.  He went to lift her overlarge t-shirt and she put her hand on his arm, shaking her head.  He murmured against her mouth, “We’re just going to sleep tonight, Molly Hooper, but our clothes are dirty.  We’re adults, I firmly believe we can lay skin-to-skin and have it be perfectly innocent.”

Molly smiled at him, “You’re just going to wait to see if we can have morning sex.”

He smirked and shrugged one shoulder.  “Stress relief. And a reward, I haven’t been this entertained in _years_.  So many people want to kill us, it’s just thrilling.”

He helped her sit on the bed, pulling off her shirt and underwear.  He tossed his clothes in the same pile and eased himself down next to her.  “Little witch, we’re both filthy. Is there any chance you have enough energy to cast that cleaning spell one more time?”

“Charm, Jim.  It’s a cleaning charm.”

He blinked owlishly at her.  “What in the world is the difference?”

She groaned and held her wand up, blasting them both with weak cleaning charms that wouldn’t disrupt their wounds, but banished the grimy feel of dirt and sweat from their skin.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.  For now, we’re going to share this bottle of Dreamless Sleep and get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now they're on the run! What happens next, I do so wonder. ;)


	8. Alohamora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Oral sex in this chapter!

When the sunlight streamed through the entrance of the cave, Molly groaned and rolled over, shoving her face into Moriarty’s shoulder.  “I don’t wanna wake up.”

Jim, on the other hand, was ready to get the day started.  “Good morning, little witch! This is day five since this whole debacle started, and while I’m enjoying the vacation, I’d really like to get back to work soon.  Daddy has an empire to run and all that.” He jumped out of the makeshift bed, the sun making his skin glow and…oh. He was naked. Very naked. Wearing only her collar and chain.

Molly couldn’t help but stare.

He was stretching, raising his arms above his head and, oh yes, he was a typical man whose body had typical reactions in the morning.  “Your little potions are really delightful, Molly-mine, I feel brand new. I haven’t felt this healthy since…” He looked over and caught her eyes on not his face.

He turned to face her fully, his erection heavy, dark and Molly’s body reacted immediately.  He reached down to casually run a hand over his length, pulling a little on the upstroke, and Molly felt a blush rise to her face.

“We…we should probably talk.”

He rolled his eyes and stroked himself a little harder, “You aren’t favoring your shoulder, I’m willing to bet you’re completely healed.  Talk is so boring, little witch, why don’t you do something much more fun with your mouth instead?”

“James Moriarty, I’m not going to perform fellatio while there’s two governments and a _wizarding_ _terror cell_ trying to capture and probably kill both of us.”  He started to stroke himself faster. Molly felt her tongue creep out to lick her lower lip, and Jim started to casually walk toward her.  Right, the threat of imminent torture and death was the headiest of aphrodisiacs for this man.

“We can multitask.  You 'perform fellatio' while I think out loud.”  He could see her eyes getting darker, he could almost smell her arousal, and Jim decided to be kind to her.  He knelt on the bed and crawled closer until his dick was level with her face and he flexed his hips juuuuust so...

Looking up at him through long lashes, Molly said, “Start talking, Jim.”  And then she took him into her mouth. They both groaned at it, and Molly's hips automatically canted back.  She started bobbing her head and slowly rubbing her tongue against him while he wound his hands in her hair.

“Well, we know we’re wanted probably alive by the government, and probably dead by the terror cell, and really, which one of those is more fun?”  Molly glared at him and let him feel her teeth for a second, “Right yes, alive, definitely the alive one.” She rewarded him by taking him deeper.

His hips started moving almost mechanically while his gaze softened and lost focus.  “I just need to understand the rules of this game, and it seems almost like it’s an ‘anything goes’ sort of place.  Lots of laws, yes, lots of spells a nice witch or wizard shouldn’t use, but a lot that you can, in a way that’s almost worse than the illegal ones.” At her questioning gaze that made his hips thrust forward down her throat for a second, he said, “Ah, yes. You left those books.  The healing books, by the sofa. I read them, and honestly? They’re _tools_ , Molly-mine.  Your scalpel is just a scalpel, whether it’s used to cut open a dead man’s chest cavity or a live one’s.  The precedent is the same for spells. That one to remove bones? _Beautiful_.  I wish I could have had that a year ago, would have saved me a lot of time and mess.  The carpet was never the same after that.”

She hummed her acknowledgement, and Jim made a low keen, holding her head in place while he fucked her mouth for a second.  “That…you’re good at this, Molly-my-Bell, I am so regretting we never did this before, but back on topic, all you need for a good plan is confidence and an understanding of a problem space. You just need pressure points and misdirection. Throwing over a dictator in South America and helping a mildly successful businessman disappear use wildly different methods, but all I really do is come up with a solution to a problem.  Understand the problem and the base human root of it, and the solution will present itself. What is our problem, little witch?”

She sucked on him harder, moving her head smoothly.  Really, this display was making her go a little insane from lust.  She’d always had a weakness for intelligence, power and she manipulated him with her tongue in a way that made the taut muscles of his abdomen flex.  Molly Hooper had enjoyed giving blowjobs even as a Muggle, just because of the reaction she could get out of a man with hooded eyes and a gentle loosening of her pharynx.  Closing her eyes, Molly took a breath, relaxed her throat, and went down until her nose was flush with his pubic bone and he went entirely stiff, his hands running over her hair and shoulders in turns and he gasped out, “ _Well well well_ , someone is having a good time.”  She hummed in agreement again, moving her head ever so slightly, just enough to stimulate him while she felt him swell in her mouth.

He pushed her head back almost violently, holding his wet cock with one hand while he held her head in place with the other and he came in thick, strong spurts over her chest and face.

They locked eyes, both panting and red-faced, and Jim whispered, “What is our _problem_ , little witch?”

Waving her hand to clean the semen off her face, Jim made a sad sound at that, Molly took a deep breath and thought.  Everything stemmed from a root problem. One idea that branched out like a Devil’s Snare, choking everything in its path.

“Nobody expects a Muggle at a Wizarding duel.” She said out loud, almost absently.  “They didn’t want you, personally, but they went through the trouble of meeting you and wiping your memories…” She thought hard.  “You never meet face to face with clients, right? How would they have even met you? We already know what Po…Kitten, what Kitten wants to do, but do we know _why._ ”

Jim sat down heavily next to her, drawing the blanket over his lap.  “That makes a strange sense, little witch. Someone in my network, not necessarily me, can solve their problem.”  He was too absorbed to sound offended. “Remind me again, what does Kitten want to do?”

“Destroy Muggleborns.  Remove them from Wizarding society.” She answered promptly.  “Exactly like You-Know-Who.”

“Hnnn…You don’t know that for sure, little witch.  Only two have been taken that we know of, right? They could be connected by something other than parentage.  Politics, geography, family feud, hair color, blah blah blah, lots of things can start something like this. One point is an anomaly, two points is a line, but _three_ is a graph.   What we need is more information.  What I need is…data. History. I don’t have enough of anything to do more than make wild assumptions that are probably going to be correct, but I can’t guarantee it.  I can’t play the game without even knowing what the pieces are.” He was running his hands through his hair slowly. “You said letters, earlier, but what do they _say_?”

Molly was very sure nobody else alive had seen Moriarty this disconnected.  He was completely in the dark, no internet, no phone, not even a newspaper. Barely any cultural context.  It was amazing to see his brain make these connections, but scary to see him stretching so far.

Molly drew the comforter up to her chest and said seriously, “Jim, I need to look in your memories.  I need to see if I can find any pieces that we’re missing.”

His eyes wandered to the front of the cave, but he gave a small nod.  A muscle in his jaw jumped.

She looked at his hair.  Short, dark, but just long enough, and she was suddenly struck with a deep feeling of dread in her belly.

“If they took your hair, we have a really big problem.”

He shot her a narrowed glance.

“A potion.  Polyjuice. Brew the base, add the hair of whomever you want to impersonate, and it…it changes you.  Makes you look exactly like them. Only for a time, but if you had enough hair…”

Jim looked pained.  “Are you saying someone could be wearing my face, right now, running my network, right now, _be in my Westwoods, right now_ and there’s nothing I can do about it?”  When it got to the suits, Jim looked thunderous.

“Not _you_ , no.  But luckily for you, I’m on your side.”

Jim didn’t look entirely comfortable, and Molly studied him.  He was so quick, so intelligent, but so inexperienced in this world.  Without even thinking about it, she said, “I always knew magic would ruin my life.”  He looked at her sharply. “I’m sorry your association with me is ruining yours.”

He blinked rapidly at her.  “You…you are aware that I’m not really a victim in this, right?  I’m really not enjoying this trope, Mollykins, and you have to understand that what these people are trying to do in the magic world is _exactly_ what I would orchestrate in the normal one.  Consulting criminal, Molly, do I have to tell you again what that means?”

She turned her face away and he pressed her, “If you’re going to look in my head, don’t be surprised if the only reason I turned them down was because the plot was boring.  Because it _is_.  The only reason it’s interesting now is because of you, yes, and how entirely unexpected all of this is, but I can’t help but think if I had never been aware that I’d been…tampered with, I wouldn’t have cared what they’re doing.  I know you feel compelled to help save helpless innocents, so I’ll overlook this, but Molly, my little witch, once we’re back to the normal world…”

“You aren’t going to help me save them.”  She whispered. “I forgot, I always forget, you’re a villain.”

“Just so.” If he’d been wearing pants, his hands would have been in his pockets.

Her eyes were steely when they looked at him, with a hidden cunning.  “Unless I hired you.”

“I’m sorry?” He raised one eyebrow.

“If I hire you, Moriarty, to do this for me, if I pay you, you’ll be contract bound to at least supply me with a plan.  A way for me to find Kitten and save these Muggleborns. Get rid of this threat. I don’t want any other child feeling how I felt, hunted and afraid and barely worthy of holding a wand.  I’m willing to pay you to help me.”

“I’ve seen your paycheck, little witch, I even broke into your bank account.  You don’t have enough to even…”. He stopped short as she stabbed her wand at the trunk and brought out three purple sacks.  She resized them until they were roughly the same size as a pillowcase, then, never taking her eyes off of him, she dumped all of it onto the floor.  “Ah. This must be Wizarding money. Gold coins, how tacky.”

“You can’t exactly exchange these for pounds at Gringotts, so I’ll analyze them and tell you the purity of each coin.  24 karat is too soft for practical use, but I wouldn’t be surprised if each one was solid gold with enchantments to keep the shape of each coin.  Wizards are so damn showy.”

He stood up, walking to the coins and running his hands through them.  He bit one and tossed it down. “No thanks.”

Molly stopped, extremely taken aback.  “Its…by Muggle standards this is a _lot_ of money, Jim.  A lot of gold.”

He shrugged.  “Maybe a million?  Probably less, if this can’t be melted down.  But I’m not interested in money all of the time, or even most of the time, Molly Hooper.  What I’m interested in is excitement. Power. Something interesting.” His eyes didn’t leave hers and she got a sinking feeling in her stomach.  “I’ll help you, I’ll bring down this entire scheme and hell, let’s see if we can even topple the magic government for giggles, but my price is you. Your body, your mind, your _magic_.  Your very _heart_ , Molly Hooper.”

He pulled at the chain, the silver shining against his bare chest.  He wrapped the end around his fist, over and over and over.

“You’ll be mine forever, Molly Hooper.  Molly-mine. Molly-my-Bell. My little witch.  Mine. Til death do us part.” He started walking forward slowly.  “I don’t keep many people forever, and really, this is what was going to happen anyway.”

She choked out an unbelieving laugh.  “Is this…a marriage proposal, Moriarty?”

He kept stalking her.  “A business arrangement, Molly dear.  Like all marriages.” He stopped just in front of her, naked and extremely unconcerned about it.  “I’ll save your little world, Molly Hooper. Or destroy it, whichever one you want. Just say you’ll be mine.”

Molly groaned and fell backward.  “You supreme idiot. Do you know how illegal it would be for me to use my magic to help you with your ‘business’?  I probably wouldn’t get a trial, just a one way ticket to Azkaban. Nevermind the fact that I absolutely do not want to be a knowing part of hurting any innocent people, I can’t just…bewitch people or start casting killing curses all over the place!”

“Ah, another layer to this delightful culture.  What, pray tell, is Azkaban?” He kept wrapping and unwrapping the chain from around his fist.

“A magical prison on a rock in the middle of the North Sea. It used to be guarded by creatures that could literally eat your soul.  Similar to a lobotomy. Leave you just a husk, just a body. They feed on emotion, on forcing you to relive your most negative, painful moments in your life until you go _insane_.  I saw the product of spending a few years in that place in a mad witch during the war, and honestly I’d rather have my magic stripped and be turned into a Muggle.  Some people don’t even get trials, they just get swept away and held there. Not sure who’s guarding it now, probably people who couldn’t do well on their exams, and that isn’t much better of a thought.”

Moriarty digested this information, clucking his tongue, “How very sane. I can see why you’d want to leave this life behind.  I’ve been in maximum security prisons, secret ones on islands, and that sounds…I wouldn’t put you in there, Molly-mine.” Wrapping and unwrapping the chain.  “I’d kill you first.”

She put a pillow over her head.  “Or you could just avoid putting me in incriminating situations to begin with, Moriarty-mine.”

He chuckled darkly, “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

Under the pillow, Molly’s mind was running a million miles a minute.  There was a very slim chance that she could return to her old life. Return to Bart’s, return to her flat, and live a quiet Muggle life.  Even if she Obliviated Moriarty, Mycroft knew. She wouldn’t be allowed to modify _his_ memories, she was extremely sure of that.  If she so much as pulled her wand on him, she’d be incapacitated within seconds by his Auror guard.  Molly knew, she just knew, that if Mycroft got his hands on her…

“Jim, have you ever been in the same room as Mycroft Holmes?”

He made a disgusted noise.  “Ugh, the Iceman. More times than I really care to think about.  His little interrogation rooms are so bloody boring.”

“Wait, what?” She flung the pillow off of her head.  “You were _caught_ …actually, no, I don’t want details.  No thanks. But he knows about magic. He works, indirectly, with the Ministry of Magic.  And he knows about me, Elizabeth told me... What sort of…what do you think he would use me for?  If the British government caught me?”

Jim’s face got a strange expression, one she couldn’t place.  “I would never let that happen.”

She rolled her eyes, “But just in case…”

He cut her off. “No, Molly Hooper.  You have a fairly accurate idea of what I would ask of you.  You know what I do. Mycroft…” The strange expression turned into something hard. “Mycroft would use you for something much worse.”  His eyes burned as he looked at her. “I don’t care what you say now, Molly Hooper, but you’re _mine_.  If they got you, I would get you out.”

She closed her eyes and held the pillow to her chest.  “I just want to live on my own, free from obligation. Free from fear.  I don’t want to hurt anyone with my magic. I don’t want to hurt anyone at all.”

She felt the bed dip as Moriarty sat down.  He was still for a moment, and she could feel his hesitation as he reached out and gently ran his hand over her stomach and hip.  “It’s a little late for that now, little witch. You’ll have to hurt someone before this is done, I can promise you that.”

Molly gave a large sigh as Moriarty let his hand rest on her thigh.  He started to drum a pattern into her skin, and she slid her eyes to him.  He looked...lost. His eyes were unfocused, but tracking back and forth at something she couldn’t see.  His guard was completely down, his body was as relaxed as she’d seen him, and he was probably thinking of something he couldn’t yet articulate.

Molly palmed her wand.  She knew the basics of Legilimancy, she’d thumbed through the book because it had seemed interesting, useful and something Muggle her would have naturally expected of someone magical, but she’d never cast the spell before.  She didn’t even know anyone who publicly claimed to be proficient at it, probably because it was a scary thought even to magical folk. She would have assumed the late Albus Dumbledore was, he seemed to be good at _everything_ , and she wouldn’t put it past Hermione Granger to know it, but none of her mates had talked about it.  But she knew the theory, and Molly had a lot of practice at being proficient at something on the first try.  She knew it was really hard to practice Legilimancy on someone who fought, who struggled, who saw it coming.

“Jim.”  She called his name softly, to just get him to slide his eyes her way.  Not enough to distract him.

She pointed her wand at him under the blanket and as soon as his eyes made contact with hers, she murmured, “Legilimens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my my my. More next week!


	9. Legilimens

It was like being plunged into the middle of the Arctic sea.  Dark, cold water everywhere. The surface so far out of reach, murky greenish light above and absolutely blackness below.  Jim’s mind was _freezing._ His mind had clothed her in a pair of her sensible pants and a plain blouse with her cherry printed cardigan, but it didn’t seem to change the temperature either way.  A blur of images and feelings like icebergs, mostly jagged anger and a little bit of smooth curiosity, huge chunks of spiky, uneven ice floating by in his stream of thought.  Some were rising to the surface, up to where she assumed his conscious thought was, the groan of ice under stress filling her ears, and some were sinking back into the empty depths, down into the bottom of his subconscious.  She gasped, sucking in a mouthful of dark liquid into her, and she felt his betrayal instantly. ‘You shouldn’t be here, little witch.’

She reached out and thought, ‘Show me the meeting with Polecat.’

He couldn’t help but tug her through the water, dragging her to a darker iceberg, this one submerged, but not quite sinking down.  Suspended in the twilight zone of his ocean. It looked...odd. Not quite here, fading in and out, cracked, and full of something that didn’t belong.  The ice was different too, incredibly dark purple and luminescent, like it held a weak star at its core. The ice at the top of his mind varied in color, but most of it was shades of blue and green.  A few were white, a few more dark like blood. ‘I wonder what those are?’ She felt a nudge from what must have been Moriarty’s sense of self, a very blatant ‘Leave it alone.’ She felt him draw her attention back to this strange iceberg.

She swam forward to the misshapen chunk, watching it slowly spin in the tide.  It felt very strange, like someone else had set a spell inside of him, and she suddenly understood that the purple tinge to the ice meant magic.  There was a spell _inside_ of his mind?  Not just the memory of magic, otherwise everything from the past week would be a lurid violet, but an actual spell?  Molly suddenly felt incredibly out of her depth. She was in someone else’s mind for the first time, trying to find a tampered memory, and she might trigger a trap of a curse or hex lodged deep inside of his _brain._ Fantastic.

She wasn’t the most brilliant witch of her generation, but Molly was curious and not afraid of hard work. She had done so much extra-curricular work at Hogwarts, learning the basics for most branches of magic.  Once you got past the archaic writing style and the fact that wizards had stopped paying attention to book binding methods past the mid sixteenth century, it had all been relatively easy to absorb. Large, full of detail, but the general ideas were just so fascinating and so many intertwined.  Once you suspended your disbelief, anything really was possible.

Not once in all of her adventures through the Hogwarts library, even the restricted section, had Molly Hooper ever heard of anything like this.

Could it be a vow?  A handshake and a few words that he’d had no idea the seriousness of?  Molly was pretty sure making a magical vow required two willing magical participants, but now she really didn’t know.  A time release spell related to the ring he’d worn? She was fairly certain the ring had been keyed to decay based on time off of his finger and slowly release a spell like a homing beacon, maybe this was the anchor for it?  A bomb, waiting to be touched by the first magical presence in his head to explode and _ruin_ James Moriarty forever?

Only one way to find out.

Molly reached out one hand, pressed it to the surface, and was immediately so frigid it felt like she was _burning_.  She was sucked into the memory and left the cold, silent mindscape of Jim Moriarty behind.

Her first impression was that it was dry.  She dragged in a ragged gasp, shivering in her soaked clothes, before wildly sweeping the room to see where the hell the spell might be hiding. It could be anything, a book on the shelf, a paperweight on the desk, or it could be…

She was caught by the image of Jim at a posh wooden desk, the walls behind him lined with books, the floor under him a red Berber carpet, typing at a laptop with a look of concentration on his face.  He was in a hand-tailored suit of deep green, with a black shirt buttoned to his throat under it. His hair was slicked back and he looked so handsome Molly couldn’t help but appreciate the fine figure he cut.  He ran his tongue over his teeth before sticking the tip out and biting it, completely absorbed in whatever he was currently working on.

The doors to what must have been his office slammed opened, and Jim’s face didn’t move from his work, but one of his hands did curl around the silver Beretta next to his laptop, and he pointed it at whoever had barged into his office, “This had better be good, I don’t fancy how long it takes to clean brains out of the decor.”

Molly turned a half step to look at the intruder and was immediately struck by how _wrong_ the person looked.  It was Polecat as he had been described, a large man in a fine set of dress robes the color of twilight, black hair flowing to his shoulders and tanned skin stretched tight over a broad face.  Golden eyes set beneath heavy black brows, a prominent nose and yes, there high on one cheekbone was a rough, uneven scar approximately in the shape of a star. The details were good, but something was underneath.

Molly stood very still, suddenly aware that Polecat was the source of the feeling from the iceberg.  It was like the image of what a person had been described as layered over pure magic. A hologram. ‘What the hell is this?’ she thought quietly.

The exchange went similar to what Jim had said.  Polecat had introduced himself and gotten a disrespectful sneer in return.  He had demanded money, time, resources for a ‘campaign of terror’ and Jim had not been impressed by the details.  Kidnappings without murder, letters not laced in poison, graffiti without setting anything on fire, what was the point?  When pressed for the reason behind the terror, the main problem, the goal, Polecat had fumbled with his words and Jim sneered, flicking his gun in an unmistakable dismissal.

Then something strange happened.

Everything froze, Moriarty still staring at his laptop, his hand on his gun and Polecat wavered, the image fading in and out like a poor connection on the telly.

A figure stepped out of the Polecat construct, and Molly found herself staring in the hard blue eyes of Elizabeth Simple.

She gave Molly a frightening smile, so insincere it was painful, and said lowly, “Hello again, Molly Hooper.”

Molly was completely shocked.  She couldn’t even move, just flick her eyes up and down to take her in, almost exactly as she had seen her on the street, but...different.  More confident. She tapped a dark wand against her lips, her smile pulling back even more to see teeth. The same robe Polecat had worn, but tailored to her figure.  Dark hair shot with streaks of grey, piled high on her head in an elegant twist, and deep blue gems sparkled at her throat and on her fingers.

“Did I take your breath away?  Oh, I do so love that. So sweet, you always did think the best of me.”  She swayed around Moriarty, running one long fingered hand down his chest.

“W... what is... what.. how...? We’re inside of his _mind_ …”  Molly stuttered.

“Indeed we are.  What are you more curious about, the message I planted in the mind of a criminal mastermind ex-boyfriend of yours or how I put it there?  I’ll only tell you about one or the other.” Elizabeth laughed and ran her hand further down Moriarty’s chest, down past where the desk eclipsed his form.

Molly’s tongue was thick in her mouth.  “I...the message would probably be more useful, but the technique would be more interesting.”

Elizabeth laughed and spun away from Moriarty, the panels of her dress robe flaring open like the petals on a flower.  “Oh Miss Hooper! You delight me so. How terribly cheeky. Oh alright, you sweet girl, I’ll tell you both. First, the method.  I used a _spell_.  I’ll give you details next time we meet.  Now, the message.” Elizabeth pranced over to gently pick up Molly’s frozen hand and twined their fingers together.  Her bright blue eyes settled on Molly’s for a second, and she murmured, “I do wonder what it is that attracts such people into your life?  Sherlock, Jim, myself. We could all do so much better and yet we will settle for no less.”

She turned back to the scene and snapped her fingers.

As if nothing had happened, the facade Polecat whipped out his wand and Jim fired a shot from his gun.  Polecat deflected the bullet and used a fast, “ _Expelliarmus_!” to toss the gun out of Moriarty’s hand. He trained his wand on Moriarty while the smaller man slowly stood up from his chair.

“What is this?  What do you want?”  He didn’t sound frightened, just a little annoyed and a little curious.

Polecat’s smooth voice, “Just a moment of your time.  And to plant a seed.”

Moriarty cocked his head  to the side. “My time is expensive.  I’m also fresh out of planter pots and soil, so you’ll have to forgive me.  There’ll be no gardening today.” Molly couldn’t hold back her snort, and Elizabeth squeezed her hand.

“Pay attention,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I think you’ll like this next part.”

Polecat gave a rich laugh as well.  “You’ll be compensated for your time, the show earlier was for someone else’s benefit.  A red herring, as it were. And the seed is not of the _flora_ variety, Mr. Moriarty.”  He waved his wand and Jim’s chair pushed back in, forcing his knees to collapse and him to sit down, hard.  Inelegantly. It made Molly uncomfortable, to see him robbed of his natural grace.

Polecat strode up to the desk and produced a single sheet of paper from inside of his robes, laying it gently across the desk.  “Do you recognize this woman, Mr. Moriarty?”

Jim picked it up with two fingers, flipping it back and forth.  With a pang in her heart, Molly realized it was a photograph of her, in the lab, holding a volumetric flask up to the light.  She was frowning and her hair was pulled back in a messy, uneven braid. The transparent safety glasses partially obscured her face, but it was very clear that it was her.

He tossed it down and wiped his fingers on his blazer. “Molly Hooper, specialist registrar at St Bartholomew’s Hospital in London and a desperately lonely spinster with terrible taste.  What of her?”

Molly couldn’t help her sharp breath and the sudden feeling of tears at the corners of her eyes.  That brief assessment was honest and painful and she could see very clearly the lack of emotional depth in his eyes.  Jim Moriarty hadn’t really cared about her at all in that moment.

Polecat crossed his arms.  “And how is she in the bedroom, Mr. Moriarty?”

Jim got very still.

He laced his fingers on the desk.

He leaned in and tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows and giving Polecat a look that probably meant ‘execution’ for anybody else.  “What?”

Polecat produced another photograph, and Elizabeth tugged her over to look at it.  It was her and Jim, back when he had been Jim from IT, and they were in her bed. Her head was thrown back, hair spilling over the sheets, and he was laying over her, hips between her thighs, and she remember that moment, when he had first sunk into her and how incredibly good the stretch and burn of him had felt.  The look on his face as he’d stared at her, drinking in her reaction, was the look of a man obsessed.

Polecat smirked at Jim’s non-reaction.  “She looks pretty good for a spinster. I agree about the no taste part, though.  Maybe I could pay her a visit...broaden her horizons.”

Jim’s knuckles got very white.  “Molly Hooper is off limits.”

Polecat tilted his head.  “Why?”

Jim got a nasty smirk, “Because I say so.”

Polecat laughed, “That’s not the correct answer, Mr. Moriarty, but I’ll let it slide.  It’s enough for me that you remember her, and have apparently pissed all over her in a way that warns away all petty criminals.  Her flat probably has never been broken into since she spread her legs for you, huh? Nobody would dare try to mug or rape her, drop any drugs in her drink, even get her caught in crossfire, I’d bet.”  His eyes were bright, “I have to wonder just how sweet her pussy was to make her so protected.”

Jim’s face was pure poison.  “I’ll turn you in a belt and matching set of shoes if you so much as even look at her.”

Polecat held up his wand.  “Oh, Mr. Moriarty. I don’t have to look at her.  You’re going to bring her right to me.” He pointed his wand right between Moriarty’s eyes and casually said, “ _Imperio_.”

“No…” Molly breathed.

She saw the minute the Imperius got its hooks in his head, and Polecat’s illusion fell away to reveal Elizabeth Simple, looking insanely triumphant. She smiled wide, “You’ll seduce Molly Hooper and when you have her believing you feel something more than insane possessiveness and a need to fuck her straight through her mattress, which shouldn’t be hard, she’s desperate and you’re terribly good at manipulation, you’ll take off this ring,” the golden magpie ring levitated from her pocket and slid right onto his finger, “and you’ll restrain her until I arrive.”

“Molly Hooper is _mine_ ,” he growled, and she saw the spell waver for a moment, the force of his will threatening to buck it off entirely.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I’ve had designs on her since she was eleven years old.  She has such potential, she just devoured every assignment I sent her way. I can build an empire on the back of someone like Molly Hooper, her desire to please, talent for science and magic, and now, I’m pretty sure I have a pressure point on her.  That’s what you call them, right? Pressure points? I wonder if you ever thought you’d be one.” Moriarty _sneered_ at her.  Elizabeth simply smiled.  “As a bonus, her flair for dealing with dead bodies is going to help me unleash something huge and rather disastrous on the Wizarding world.”

“The what?” Jim looked a little confused.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.  You won’t remember this. I’m going to lock it away in your mind as a little present for our mutual friend.”  Elizabeth smiled and flicked her wand.

The scene paused again, and the Elizabeth holding Molly’s hand turned to smile at her.  “And here you are, Molly Hooper. Right exactly where I wanted you.” Molly started tugging her hand, trying to get away, but Elizabeth’s grip was like a vice.

“No.  Not at all.  I’m not going to help you with this insane pseudo-Voldemort bullshit.  Not again. Never again.” Molly was violently tugging on her hand now, but Elizabeth’s grip was steady.

But this explained so much.  Jim’s strange behavior, his willingness to bed her so soon into their capture (though, he was just hyper sexual, that part was probably mostly him), anything resembling an emotion close to affection.  Why he wanted to ‘play things by ear’ and all of his answers during their little game had struck her as slightly strange. He was possessive, but that was just a child with a toy. He’d set her on a shelf and never look at her again, but nobody else could have her.

He’d never cared.  Not really.

But had Molly?  She felt a certain responsibility for him while he was so helpless in her world.  He was fun, when he wasn’t trying to kill her. So incredibly intelligent, handsome, the feeling of the full weight of his attention on her and his hands…

Fuck.  She did care about him.  That felt like a death sentence on her heart.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow.  “I...are you serious? I just told you there is no plot to get rid of Muggleborns.  Have you gotten so slow, or, wait,” her eyes got large, “Noooo. You were distracted by dear Jim, weren’t you?  You...you do...you have _feelings_.  For _him_.”  Her face twisted.  “How very unfortunate.  But at least I was right about a pressure point.  You’ll pack bond with anyone, apparently.”

She sighed and rubbed her head with the hand that wasn’t clutching Molly’s.  “There’s no plot, Molly mine, but I planted that seed to help with the illusion.  The same way I never said I was an Auror, I just let you draw your own conclusions.  There was never a warrant. I don’t really care what the government knows, but I killed all of the snipers and mercenaries Mr. Moriarty had trained on your apartment.  A few Avadas finished up with a lot of banishments and, well, it looks like you simply vanished. Mycroft absolutely knows now, that much is sure, but everything else…?”

Molly felt sick.  “It was a lie. Always lies with this man.  Even when he doesn’t know it.”

Elizabeth looked at her with pity.  “Don’t fret too badly, dear. I didn’t press him to act too far out of his nature.  He would have tried to claim you at some point, probably on your wedding day or something equally dramatic.  Then he would have put you in a tower to forget about you, chained on your back with your legs spread. Maybe see if he could have turned you into his private pathologist, maybe have you develop poisons for him.  Something like that. Something dark and terrible and completely wasteful of your true talents.”

She ran sharp nails down Molly’s face and grabbed her cheeks.  “Don’t worry too badly at all, I’ll find you soon. I’ll even let you keep him as a pet if you really want, but I’m going to use you to fix _everything_ wrong with the Wizarding world.”

Just then, the entire room _rocked_ with the force of something that sounded suspiciously like a wave beating the outside of the memory.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and dropped Molly’s hand. “Now he’s in a mood.  Wonderful. Well, at least this little trap was sprung and I can disappear now.  No need to remain any longer. I’ve held this in here for long enough.”

“Wait!”  Molly shouted, “Why did you want me?  What did you want me to do?”

Elizabeth smiled.  “If you haven’t figured it out yet, my dear, then it will be such a surprise when I catch up to you.”

The walls of the room broke in and Molly was submerged in bitterly cold water, filling her lungs and dragging her away from the room.  She opened her eyes one more time, drinking in the sight of Moriarty frozen in his smart emerald suit before she was violently thrown out of the ocean and back into her own consciousness.


	10. Imperio

She gasped in the clean, bright oxygen and vaguely heard Jim telling her to calm down, take smaller breaths, but she couldn’t help dragging in lungful after lungful, her chest feeling like it was still full of heavy salt water.  Jim’s hand was tight on her thigh and she shoved it away.

Tears starting to build in her eyes, she fell off the bed and started pawing through the trunk, pulling on her old school robe and practically throwing Jim’s suit at him, blasting it with laundry spells on the way.

He made a sound of shock and she keened at him, low in her throat, “Get dressed and stay _away_ from me, James Moriarty.”  She shrunk down the bedding and threw it back in the trunk, packing everything that had been strewn around the cave with wild sweeps of her wand.  Toby bounded up from a crevice in the cave wall, a mouse in his mouth. “Toby, there you are. My familiar. My Toby.” She held him to her chest, flicking the mouse away, and pressed her face into his side.

She stayed like that for a long time, what felt like hours, before the familiar click of Jim’s expensive leather shoes and the sound of fabric rustling got her attention.  “I’m dressed now, Miss Hooper, if there’s anything you want to tell me about your little adventure violating my mind.” He sounded cold but also slightly curious.

She didn’t move.  “You didn’t... you didn’t see?”

He sighed.  “No. I felt you go in, but then... I couldn’t follow.”

She gave a choked laugh.  “You weren’t in my apartment to abduct me.  Well, you kind of were. Pole…’Kitten’ is my informant.  My friend, Elizabeth. She found you, she knew you’d... slept with me.  As Jim from IT.” Molly’s face burned.

Jim raised his eyebrow.  “I imagine she used that as blackmail.”

Molly laughed low in her throat.  “If you can call it that. She wore a glamor to look like a man.  She threatened to pay me a ‘visit’.”

Even now, Jim’s face got very dark.  “I don’t imagine I reacted well to that.”

She smiled, despite herself.  “No, you didn’t. Have you been... protecting me, Jim?”

He looked in her eyes and cocked his head to the side.  “Does that upset you?”

“I probably didn’t need it, but no.  It doesn’t upset me. For you, it’s probably very sweet.  Elizabeth also said, in passing…” Molly closed her eyes, trying to remember.  “She said something along the lines of wondering what attracted people like you, Sherlock, and her to me. She said you could do better, but refused to settle for less?  I’m not... entirely sure what that means.”

Jim shifted.  “You’re interesting.  Unusual. I don’t really care for attachments, but if I had to pick my own version of John Watson, my own live-in ordinary person, it would probably be you.” He reached down to ghost his hand over her hair.  “You constantly surprise me, Molly Hooper.”

It was bizarre, because nothing about this was healthy and nothing about this was romantic, but it was Jim admitting she’d caught his attention.  It was Jim, in his incredible intelligence, who thought her interesting enough to steal. She knew there was no way this would end happily, because at the end of the day, she was a tool.  He wasn’t capable of loving her, but he was capable of valuing her abilities and her mind and, honestly, her body.

What an incredibly depressing thought.

“Oh, and there’s no plot.  At least, not what we thought was a plot.  It’s false.” Molly hadn’t realized how much of herself she had shaped to be brave and save the Muggleborn child who had never even laid hand upon a wand.  It had given her a reason to put up with Moriarty, a reason to root around in his head, a reason to step outside of her dull Muggle life and fully embrace magic again.  She had built herself up for a lie. What a common theme in her life.

“I’m sorry?” Moriarty sounded very confused and there was the beginning of anger coloring his  tone.

“What you couldn’t remember.  Elizabeth planted... a spell? A shade?  A part of herself? I’m not entirely sure _what_ that was, but she left a message for me.  Inside of your head. The first half of what you remember was real, but the intention was false. Misdirection.  She worked out some kind of fancy wandwork to semi-Obliviate you, hiding it from everyone but me. Really, I think you’re going to enjoy unraveling this.  She’s quite clever. But there’s no warrant- Well, not for the Wizarding world at least. You still have one for the Muggle world, I reckon. They just think I’m missing.”

Moriarty’s jaw was open and he looked stunned.

Molly looked at him evenly.  “She magically mind controlled you into coming to my flat.  The spell is called Imperius, and it’s one of those ‘one-way-ticket-to-Azkaban’ ones.  You were to seduce and then restrain me until she arrived. She wants me for something, I’m not entirely sure what, but I think she wants me to develop something using a combination of magic and science to ‘fix what’s wrong with the Wizarding world’ or something trite like that.”

At length, Moriarty said, “You don’t seem upset by that.”

Molly laughed.  “Oh, I’m furious, but more than that, I’m... I’m tired.”  She rested her head on her knees. “I didn’t ask for this.  I didn’t ask for you, or Sherlock, or Elizabeth. I worked so hard to be nobody.  I’m tired of war and murder and…” she looked over at the collar around his neck. “I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know how to remove the magic from your head, assuming it’s still there, I don’t know how to remove the Imperius to get you back in your own state of mind.  Your interest in me would have faded, eventually, but now I don’t think it’s possible for you to _not_ be interested in me.  You’ll be magically compelled to seduce and capture me until Elizabeth glides in and... removes it, I suppose, or kills you and takes me.”  Molly lifted her head to look at him. “Though she did say I could keep you as a pet. So perhaps there’s a chance you might get to live through this after all.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“How does it feel, James Moriarty,” Molly whispered, “to be the pawn, for a change?  To be the means to an end to harass someone else? To have your body used for another’s secret purpose?” She gave him a thin lipped smile.  “If you ever need to talk about it, let me know. I have lots of experience in that department.”

He gave her a sharp smile, “It feels like something _new_.  And now, we have a better idea of what our problem is, little witch.”  He crouched next to her. “We need to play the game. I need you to tell me all about Elizabeth... what’s her last name?”

Molly closed her eyes.  “Simple.”

“Ah, yes, Elizabeth Simple.”

The air felt wrong.

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Molly whispered harshly before wrapping one hand around Moriarty’s chain and yanking him off balance, forcing him to fall into her and wrap his arms around her and Toby, before grabbing her trunk and Apparating them away.  The last thing she heard was an angry scream and some debris as another hex hit the ceiling above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! See you next week!


	11. Disillusion

The first thing Molly did when they landed safely on Sherlock’s bed was shove her trunk to the side and gently release Toby, then she held Moriarty’s chain in a firm grasp and flipped them, so she was straddling his hips and holding his chain taut.

His pupils darkened, his hands slid up her thighs to pull her down while his hips pushed _up_ …  ”Stop that.” Molly hissed.

“Magical compulsion.” He shot back, grinding himself against her.  “Though, I assure you I’d like this position even without it.”

Molly’s angry face didn’t soften, but she did feel her body start to get excited.  “No, that’s too many times I’ve had to Apparate, and we need to have a talk about saying certain phrases.  We also need a _plan_.  Eventually, I’m going to run out of places to go.”

“Multitask.” He grunted as she gave his chain a vicious jerk.  He thrust himself against her in answer. Molly was mortified to find her hips rolling against him in response.  He sent her a triumphant smirk. “I know you’ve dreamt about orgasming all over the Virgin’s sheets, let me just make that a reality for you.”

Molly rolled her eyes, participating in the frottage, before whispering, “We’re not going to have sex again, James Moriarty, I absolutely refuse to take advantage of someone so clearly under the influence of another!  Using the Imperius as an excuse to have sex in the most ridiculous of places...” He pressed himself against her harder, forcing her hips back while his went up and Molly couldn’t stop the sound that left her throat.

And suddenly Molly was disgusted with herself.  Even if Jim liked this, that didn’t mean he wanted it.  That didn’t mean he’d wanted any of it, and while he probably would never care about being taken advantage of, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be the sane one and tell him to stop.

He could tell that her mind had won over her loins, and Moriarty hissed at her.  “Stop thinking so much, witch.” He gave one last frustrated thrust before flopping boneless on the bed.  He turned and sniffed the bedding, nodding appreciatively at the faint scent of quality washing powder and running his hands over Sherlock’s thousand thread count sheets.

“This is, really, the last place I could think of.  We can only stay another minute or two, I’m sure there’s monitoring spells on this place, but...”

“What do you need?” Jim asked abruptly, almost bored.  His hands went back to her thighs, running up and down the smooth material of her school robe.

Molly stopped, sitting back on his upper thighs, her hands still holding loosely onto his  chain. “Like, right now?” He watched her eyes flick down to his crotch, and if that didn’t inflate his ego...

He rolled his eyes but gave her a smirk, “Always so slow on the uptake.  Your spell to take us from ‘here to there’, where you shoot us across England like a rubber band, what do you need to take us from one place to another?”  He started drumming a pattern into her legs.

“Usually, I need to have been there before…” Jim glanced around and raised his eyebrow at her.

“Should I be jealous, little witch?  How often have you been in Sherlock’s bed?”  She turned bright red and looked away, and if that coupled with the lack of denial wasn’t an interesting reaction...but they had a very limited amount of time.  “Can you do the magic jump thing blind?”

She paused, “Wait, how did you know this is _Sherlock’s_... oh never mind, we were taught to blindly Apparate in school, but I don’t have much practice.  I like to be able to have a visual, even if it’s just approximate.”

He gave her an address in a very posh area of London, one of the tallest buildings, and her eyebrows rose.  “If your security is based entirely on electricity, then that’s going to cause a problem. There’s a pretty good chance I’ll trip the breaker from overloading the circuits.  Everything would go down.”

He closed his eyes.  “The roof, darling. I own the top three floors of that building.  Just get us onto the roof and I can take it from there. Is there a spell to make us invisible?”

She rolled her hips on top of him to get his attention, then tapped herself on the head to cast a silent Disillusionment charm once he looked up.  She felt the cold run down her spine, and his eyes got very wide as she faded from view but her weight was still deliciously tangible on his body. “...how do you feel about sex in public, little witch?”  His hands were still on her thighs, and they _gripped_ her.

With a flick, she cancelled the spell.  Her face was pink and she looked mischievous.  “Maybe.  After we’ve gotten the Imperio thrown off of you, if you still want to.  Maybe.”

His hands went from gripping to deep, soothing strokes, up and down the muscle.  “I can’t imagine that I won’t.”

She smiled at him a little sadly and turned her head.  “Toby! Let’s go.”

The door opened.

Toby came in, purring.

Nestled gently in the arms of Sherlock Holmes.

“Molly.  Moriarty.”  Sherlock’s voice was flat, but not surprised, his eyes flicking between them, the deductions practically slapping Molly in the face.  His eyes lingered on where their laps were hidden by her robes, but froze on her wand. His eyes flicked to the crest on her breast and then down to Moriarty’s obviously not-fresh suit, widening a bit when they landed on the collar around his throat, his eyes visibly tracking to where the chain was wound around Molly’s fist.

The hands on her thighs slid up to her waist and _held_ her there, and Molly shot a glance down to see Jim’s face.  He looked _insane_ , manic and not at all concentrated on her.  His attention was focused entirely on Sherlock.

“Sherlock.  Just making fantasy a reality for my best girl here.”  He ground up against her, the movement unmistakable, even through the volume of her robes.  He didn’t look at her once. “But if you wanted to join in…”

Molly had a sudden thought.  What would happen if she Apparated away by herself right now?  This was one of the most embarrassing things that had ever happened to her, and when she thought of facing Sherlock as a witch for the first time, it absolutely had not been like this.  In her imagination, it had been her in a flowing robe, wand blazing, saving him from some big bad wizard who wanted to destroy him, nobody coming to his rescue but Molly. He would have been so impressed, so grateful, he would have bent her back and...no.  Probably not that last part, but anything would have been better than this. A look of measured respect, maybe? Finally? But like this... Her old school robe thrown hastily on, no underwear, hair sex-and-Apparition tousled and thighs damp from Moriarty’s cock pressed against her through his expensive pants.  It occurred to her if she jumped up right now, there’d be a very telling wet spot directly over the bulge in his trousers. Moriarty would never have been ashamed of that. He would have rubbed Sherlock’s face it. If he had it his way, literally.

A smaller, but larger than it used to be, clinical part of herself wondered what the Imperius would do if she slipped out of Moriarty’s grasp and Apparated without him.  Was there a failsafe? A ‘punishment’ of sorts, built in? If he died, if his brain disintegrated and ran out of his skull, then nobody could find the ghost of Elizabeth Simple left deep inside of him.  Would there be pain, like a Crucio for every second he was further than ‘x’ amount of distance away from her? Like the chain around his neck, but in his psyche. Causing agony at the root of his nervous system.  Would he be like an insane bloodhound, searching the entire city until he found her again? Trying to find her scent to the exclusion of all else? Die before he stopped looking for her? Elizabeth hadn’t been extremely specific in her instructions, which left a lot of room for the magic to wiggle into what it thought the meaning behind the words was.  By ‘seduce’, did she mean ‘love’, ‘sex’, or simply, ‘constantly be near’? By ‘restrain her until I get there’, did she mean ‘don’t physically let her go’, ‘keep her in sight’ or ‘make her love you so she can’t ever leave your side’?

So much room for error.  So much room for loose interpretation.

The spell was on the tip of her tongue.  Sherlock would take care of Toby, she could easily leap off of Jim and onto her trunk, and Jim...well.  Jim.

Could she abandon her responsibility?  He’d made it clear he wasn’t helpless, he didn’t want her to fuss over him.

Would it be kinder to leave him in the hands of Aurors?  Of Mycroft? They could fix him, _Obliviate_ him, send him on his merry way.  Or keep him buried in the bowels of the Muggle Azkaban.

Jim had never looked at her so _intensely_ before.  Not like he was looking at Sherlock now.  The Imperius had required just enough from him to make her believe it.  Just enough to make her stay. What she saw now on his face was a deeper emotion than a spell could make him feel.  That was all Jim Moriarty.

He was nothing but Elizabeth’s trap, after all.  A construct to hold her like a fragile doe, with minimal struggle, until the hunter found her and slit her throat.

He was a liability, and he didn’t _belong_ with her.  In this moment, for this journey, nobody belonged with Molly Hooper.

In one smooth movement, she tossed the chain at his face, which made his hands come off of her hips to catch it, and she rolled over, shoving her hand through the strap on her trunk.  ‘Goodbye, James Moriarty.’ was on her tongue, and was what she might have said if she had more time. In the end, she said nothing at all, she stayed silent as a shadow slipping out of his grasp.  The last thing she saw was his face, twisted in anger and disbelief, plus, she was probably imagining it, panic, and he reached for her, but she was already gone.

 

* * *

 

She landed under the familiar tree in her hidden Apparition area.  She was the only person alive who knew where that spot was, and it had survived the attack on her safehouse.

The structure itself had not been so lucky.

There was simply nothing there.  Just a flat, black smudge, like a giant inkstain.  Like a mistake on a first year essay. Not even the overgrown leeks or her flourishing Flutterbloom had survived.

Molly cast a _Protego Totalum_ and _Cave Inimicum_ over her small area under the tree, confident that as long as she didn’t cast much else and didn’t say any _stupid_ words, she would be fine.  She hauled the comforter out of her trunk and a Dreamless Sleep, pulling the hood of her robe over her head, casting cushioning and warming charms on her little patch of grass, rolled herself up and fell into unconsciousness, completely and utterly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And our heroes are parted! You're so brave, Molly Hooper, you can do it. Let me know what you think, and see you next week!


	12. Fidelius

When she slowly woke in the morning, the first thing Molly realized was that she hadn’t eaten in two days.  No fuel, but she’d been burning a _lot_ of energy.  The reason Hogwarts often served fatty, carby, calorie-laden meals was that magic was extremely expensive in terms of energy expended.  Practicing the same spells over and over, getting precision, getting competency, for an hour could easily burn as many calories as an eight-kilometer run.

Her stomach was beyond empty.  She was honestly surprised she hadn’t vomited from the sheer pain.

Now, she only had to worry about feeding herself.  Not Jim, not Toby. Only Molly.

But where could she get food?  All she had were the Galleons she’d hastily thrown back in the trunk from the cave floor, and she absolutely could not take them to any Muggle town.  Exchanging them at Gringotts would take ages and be a person-filled nightmare. She had enough energy to pack, tidy herself and do one jump. She really didn’t want to go to Diagon Alley.

Wizarding Montrose was close enough, on the eastern shores of Scotland.  Small, remote, secluded. Roughly 200 kilometers away. It would at least have an all-Wizarding inn, and all of those came with a kitchen and a bar.  If she was lucky, it would have a tailor she could get some smart new robes at. Not quite Westwood, but no reason she couldn’t dress up a little when she wanted.  She felt like she could stand on the same ground as Jim and Sherlock, might as well look it. After all, the game was afoot.

Molly charmed her school crest and colors from the robe, making it solid black and serviceable.  Most witches wore long skirts or dresses under their robes, but Molly didn’t see any reason to not wear pants, as long as she kept the outer robe buttoned.  A pair of black slacks, transfigure a blouse to be red and flowing, and then those ballet slippers she’d transfigured out of socks. She’d stand out, just a little, but she’d also look much younger than she was, and from the odd times she’d visited Diagon Alley over the years, it seemed like the next generation was getting very interested in Muggle fashion.  Once, she was sure she’d seen a Malfoy running around in Muggle trainers.

Once she was dressed and her hair back into a neat ponytail, Molly shrunk the trunk and set it gently into the overlarge pocket of her outer robe.  Now, she had to concentrate and just barely change the shape of her face. Just enough. She held her wand up to her face and darkened her hair, poufed her lips, made her eyes a little more almond shaped, added a smattering of freckles and narrowed her chin.  Small changes to the face were easier to maintain and easier for someone to overlook. She’d learned that from an injured Auror during the war while she’d helped clean glass and gravel out of a wound on his leg. Nobody would think that the person she looked like right now was Molly Hooper, if they had just glanced quickly at a picture and then at her face.  At a long study, she would probably be mistaken for a relative.

All done, she had to sit down as a wave of dizziness overtook her.  Too much magic on vanity. She decided the first thing she would do after getting into Montrose was rent a room and stuff herself with Shepherd's Pie.  Maybe she’d even treat herself to a Butterbeer or two.

“Come on, old girl, just a little bit more.”  She whispered to herself.

Old girl.  Molly Hooper.  Molly Hooper needed to pull a Sherlock (and a Jim) and die for awhile.

A new name.  She’d never pass for anything but English, she didn’t have Jim’s flair for accents.

A proper Wizarding name.  From one of the boring, unremarkable families with a lot of cousins.  She could just be an estranged one. A Wizarding name from the bland, uninteresting parts of the Wizarding world.

Margaret Orpington.  She’d known two Orpington cousins at Hogwarts, Carlyle and Mary.  Both had been alarmingly average Hufflepuffs but excelled at Herbology.  Something about participating in the family farm. She hadn’t been close, but Molly figured her Muggle persona had been dull enough that she could easily be fooled for a member of the family.  Maybe she could even be a _spunky_ cousin, what a treat.  And Margaret was close enough to Molly that it would be easy to cover up if she started to introduce herself incorrectly.

Margaret Orpington, estranged third cousin to Mary Orpington, having moved far away and was now back to take in the Wizarding sites on holiday.

Good enough for now.

She felt a sense of freedom, a renewed sense of purpose, as she rose up.  Molly would find Elizabeth Simple, fight and either win or die. She couldn’t get either government involved, she understood that intrinsically.  She’d been around Jim and Sherlock long enough to know the unspoken rules of engagement. Elizabeth wanted to play with her, trap her, and Molly was used to watching from the sidelines, but all that had given her time to do was study and prepare.  For a long moment, she wished she had Jim at her back, his mind so much faster than hers and he’d initiated enough of these games to know what the next step might be, but he wasn’t here.

Molly Hooper didn’t think about Sherlock Holmes at all.

With one backward glance at where Molly Hooper’s last safe space had stood, Margaret Orpington turned away and Apparated across the cold sea with a crack like thunder.

 

* * *

 

At that moment, Jim Moriarty was pacing in Sherlock Holmes’ flat.  Silent, angry, through every room like a sullen cat, while Sherlock sat next to a full tea service in his favorite chair, Toby curled in his lap.  He was, for the very first time in his life, in shock.  He'd seen... something.  He'd seen Molly and the chain around Moriarty's throat, and then she vanished.  Vanished.  He fixated on that, the carved stick she'd held in her hand, and the psychopath currently stomping through his apartment.

When Jim stalked back through the sitting area, Sherlock focused on him and piped up, “Tea, Moriarty?”

When Jim didn’t answer, Sherlock poured two cups anyway, sitting one next to John’s chair.  On Jim’s next round of rooms, he threw himself down and took a tense sip of tea with perfect poise.

“I have to find her.” He said through gritted teeth.

Sherlock clucked his tongue, “I don’t think she wants to be found.”  Not if she could just  _vanish_ , like... he couldn't bring himself to think the word.

“No, you don’t understand.  I _have_ to find her.  Not finding her is not an option.”  Even now, the magical tension was winding its way through Jim’s head.  The overwhelming need to find Molly Hooper was a compulsion he couldn’t ignore.  When he got his hands on her, he’d wring her lovely neck before _biting_ right over the spot that made her moan.  He needed to shove her to the back of his mind.

Fortunately, Sherlock had always proved a wonderful distraction.

“I won’t _let_ you.”  Sherlock’s cultured, even baritone.

Jim gave a wild grin full of teeth as he threw the first punch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we get to see more Jim and Sherlock, I promise! This chapter was a wee bit short.


	13. Incendio

Margaret strode through the cobblestone streets of a bustling little Wizarding village.  There was another Muggle town of the same name nearby, but this one was an all magical population. Small, quiet, but she’d come in at peak errand time.  The little streets were practically crowded.

She found the inn quite easily, so prettily named ‘Calluna Inn’, and pushed on the well worn solid heartwood door.  Inside looked so much like the Leaky that she had to double check she wasn’t actually in London.

She made her way through the patrons to the barkeep, a handsome young man with a long blonde ponytail.  “Hello sir, I was wondering if I might rent a room?”

“Sure, how many beds?” He said distractedly, glancing at her and doing a double take.  He quickly raked his eyes over her form and pretty face before putting on a charming smile and setting down the rag he was using to wipe down the bar.

She slid onto a stool and batted her eyelashes.  “Just one. Single bed. I’m vacationing on my own, taking a little ‘me’ time.”

They made small talk while she ate two Shepherd’s Pies and four pints of Butterbeer.  He was impressed and insisted they do a shot together, Curmudgeon’s Flaming Special (a throwback to the nineties, he’d winked) and when she felt the fire flow down her throat, Margaret was determined to make her way through all the Wizarding cocktail specials by the time she was done with this quaint little hamlet.

When she retired to her room, it just so happened to be the handsome bartender’s shift end.

She came very close to inviting him up, just because she was an independent single witch that  _ could _ , but a pair of nimble hands and dark, angry eyes flashed in her mind, so she simply gave a delicate yawn and a flirty ‘goodnight’ instead.

She had enough time to resize her trunk and toss off her clothes before she fell into bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow.

 

* * *

The next morning saw Margaret Orpington sitting in bed, writing furiously on a long scroll of inn provided parchment.  She’d forgone the delicate quills for a Muggle ballpoint pen, and she was writing what would appear to be, to the average eyes of a witch or wizard, a dissertation on birth defects caused by long term incest in closed communities.  Since Margaret was studying to be a medi-witch, she knew that there was a large problem with the falling birth rate of pureblood families that had, traditionally, married only from the same small ‘magically pure’ stock.

Her research was unconventional because she consulted with Muggle experts in the field of dysmorphology.  Margaret hoped to pioneer treatments for hopeful couples to increase genetic diversity without compromising the purity of blood. 

Molly Hooper’s only thought on this subject was, ‘Stop marrying your cousins, you tossers.’

Molly had studied dysmorphology a little in medical school, and even for her strong resistance to mutilated bodies, birth defects resulting in failure to thrive were sad, terrible things to behold.  Magical ones...she shuddered to think what could go wrong. The best option of the pile of bad was just increased infertility. She still picked up a Prophet from time to time, and she remembered a year or two ago when a bill was introduced to allow the abduction of Muggleborn babies with strong magical signatures so they could be folded into Pureblood households.  The bill had argued that it would increase genetic diversity and help preserve Wizarding traditions, and raise a stronger generation of magical potential. It had been unanimously struck down by the Wizengamot. The balance of Wizengamot was overwhelmingly people who respected Muggle rights, and the ratio of blood status was actually quite even, Muggleborn and half-blood to pureblood.

Margaret had sympathized with the idea behind the bill, and it tied into her research very neatly.  Instead of an extreme option of kidnapping, Margaret would offer a series of expensive treatments.

Oh, Margaret Orpington, ever the opportunist.

To Molly’s eyes, Margaret’s paper was actually a long list of notes, plans, and ideas.  Nobody but her would be able to see the true content.

She needed to string together everything she knew about Elizabeth Simple, how and why she had found Jim Moriarty, and what the  _ problem _ was.  Logically, she knew why Elizabeth might try to abduct her.  They had become acquainted during school, Elizabeth knew how quick of a study Molly was and had obviously followed her career in the Muggle world.  She’d need to think back on all of the schoolwork they’d collaborated on, see if there was any sort of nefarious undertones. Molly also didn’t have anyone in the Wizarding world who would notice she was missing.  Sherlock might have made a fuss, but what could one Muggle do? Alert Scotland Yard? Lestrade’s influence didn’t even come close to the Wizarding world.

But really,  _ why _ Molly?  She didn’t consider herself very special, especially not magically.  The ability to combine Muggle science and magic might be unique, but unless Elizabeth had twenty years and a lot of high-end equipment, full of fiddly sensitive parts, ready to run on magic instead of electricity, Molly really didn’t see how she’d be able to hatch any kind of science-fueled magic terrorist plot against an entire population.  Just to even make anything target only magical people would require working from the bottom up, doing dozens of trials and getting gene samples to see if there was even a genetic marker for magic. Even then, Molly very much doubted she’d be able to do the entire project on her own. She knew the basics, but that was all theory. She couldn’t run research and development, manufacturing, testing and any other numerous functions it took to build a new compound, drug, anything, from the ground up.  Molly was very sure she’d be able to dissect and analyze any bodies Elizabeth slung her way, but that was probably not what she had in mind.

With a soft ‘pop’, the breakfast Margaret had sent for appeared on the nightstand.  Molly had wanted a full English, but Margaret was more sensible. Molly looked at the bowl of oatmeal with regret.  At least it would be filling, the addition of brown sugar and butter would make it tolerable, and the tea was a strong English black.

Margaret poured herself a cup and kept writing her business plan disguised as a medical dissertation.

 

* * *

A few hours later, after Margaret had bathed and took her time getting dressed and brushing her hair, she floated downstairs and got directions from the barkeep on shift (older, paunchy, married) to the nearest tailor.

The day was bright, clear, and Montrose was a quaint little town.  She ducked into a small sweet shop to buy a single caramel cobweb (Molly preferred Ice Mice, but Margaret found the mint too strong) and exchange some pleasant, bland conversation with the shopgirl.  Just enough for the girl to remember that she’d been in, but not enough for her to remember what they’d spoken about.

The tailor was just far enough away for Margaret to finish the sweet and wipe away the stickiness with her wand.  ‘The Golden Needle’ was a sophisticated little shop that boasted ‘fashions for every witch and wizard for all occasions’.  The windows were large, the displays minimal and tasteful, and the door was bright red with a golden handle shaped like a curved needle.

The proprietor was a younger woman who introduced herself as Emma Malkin, a second niece of the famous Madam Malkin of Diagon Alley.  She had wanted her own little shop that she hoped would become a destination for forward fashion for select witches and wizards, while still supplying the commonwealth with industrious workwear.  Margaret gave a wide smile and said she hoped she would become a select fashion-forward witch.

She commissioned three sets of lovely, functional robes with interesting lines and a flattering cut.  One was a fawn (slightly darker than Jim’s suit during his captivity), one was emerald (not as bright as Jim’s suit in the memory) and one was an invention of Emma’s, a fabric that would adjust its color based on her skin tone, the weather and the season.  When she had held the swatch up to her arm, it had shifted between red and violet, before darkening to a lovely garnet. When she removed the swatch, it faded into a slightly prismatic white that echoed a rainbow when touched. Margaret was more than willing to hand over the heavy pile of Galleons for such a delightful invention.  She also purchased a heavy black traveling cloak, the hem embroidered in gold with juniper and heather for protection and luck. A pair of sturdy dragonhide boots and delicate slippers made of the same color changing fabric, and Margaret happily shrunk the majority of her purchase to put in the pocket of her new cloak, arranging to have the robes delivered to the Calluna Inn in a week’s time.

A few hours gone, Margaret stepped outside and looked up and down the street.

Molly thought to herself, ‘What would Jim have done as Richard Brook?’  She and John once had a lovely high tea while discussing the brilliance of Jim’s acting skills.  Everything, all of the details, from the way he wore his hair to the nervous creases around his eyes, his stance, his voice, all of it had combined into a person who was fundamentally different from Jim Moriarty.  They had quietly appreciated the consulting criminal over strawberry tarts and a delightful jasmine blend. As the ‘ordinary people’, they had locked eyes over floral teacups to secretly delight at John’s description of Sherlock’s befuddlement over Jim’s persona.

A rare moment of bonding between the people who knew they were in the background, shadowed by the overlarge personalities around them.

Molly needed to sink into Margaret Orpington like an ocean and bury Molly Hooper on the sea floor.

She went back to the Inn, where the cute bartender had started his shift.  His name was Orion, and he winked at her when she came in. Margaret winked back and went up the stairs.

In her room, Molly put away her purchases and sat in front of the mirror.  She took a long look at herself and started to push Molly Hooper down a little farther.  Forget preferences, forget friendships, forget habits. Breathe in Margaret, exhale Molly.  Over and over until dinner time.

Keep Sherlock as an idea.  How would he deduce a situation?  What would he have done? That was useful, that could save her life.

Keep Jim as an idea and a reflex.  When to fight, when to flee, how to solve a problem.  A slow process to Sherlock’s instant attention. Keep him as a fantasy late at night, dreams about silver chains connecting to pale throats and sharp teeth in her neck.  Try to replace that fantasy as soon as possible.

Margaret preferred the nutty, buttery tones of a cobweb caramel.  Molly’s preference for the bright, sharp taste of Ice Mice was locked away.

Margaret looked best in jewel tones or deep, velvety black, and preferred well-tailored traditional robes.  Molly’s ideas of pastel sweaters and Muggle work pants were forgotten.

Margaret preferred blonds with work-scarred hands.  Molly...Molly didn’t prefer anything. Certainly not dark hair and a fetish for emotional abuse.

Margaret wasn’t afraid.  She was a pureblood on the continent for the war.

Margaret hadn’t been hunted.

Margaret’s school chums mailed her irregularly, as they had lives and families and were absolutely not six feet underground, one of them dead before he’d even tried to kiss someone named Molly Hooper.  Margaret had been softly kissed by the boy who’d had a crush on her, and they’d had a whirlwind romance that hadn’t lasted. He was alive and happy.

Margaret’s family still saw her from time to time, and nobody was afraid of a 12-inch willow wood wand with a unicorn hair core while they ate dinner.

Margaret Orpington was a confident witch who knew her place in Wizarding society, knew what she wanted and how to get it, and Molly Hooper was so glad to rest at the bottom of the ocean she’d built to hold Margaret Orpington.

Margaret winked at her reflection and went down to dinner.

Afterward, she brought a golden-haired constellation up and whispered ‘Nox’ between kisses, so she wouldn’t have to see if Molly Hooper’s reflection stared back at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, we get some Jim and Sherlock! Thank you for reading, please let know what you think.


	14. Confrigo

Jim woke slowly, on the couch 221B Baker St, feeling very similar to when he’d woken at Molly’s bolthole after being spelled to sleep the second time.  His head felt full of cotton and he didn’t know what day it was.

But he knew he had to find Molly Hooper.

He groaned and rolled over, letting one hand dangle over the edge of the couch.

There were footsteps and a posh accent, “Oh, you’re finally awake.”

Moriarty rolled his eyes up, seeing a head of untidy black hair, round spectacles, alarmingly green eyes and...he sat up straight.  Robes. “You’re a witch.”

The man looked a little uncomfortable.  “I know your only other magical association has been Miss Hooper, but the term is ‘wizard’.”

He flapped his hand.  “Whatever. Wizard, then.  You’re wearing the dress and you’ve got the stick.”

Decidedly uncomfortable.  Oh, what fun this was going to be.  “Robes. Wand. You’re taking this better than-  Look, my name is Harry Potter,” the man paused at that as if waiting for a reaction.  Moriarty gave none, except an eyebrow twitch. “...and I’m an Auror. One of the best, or so I’m told.”  A humble-brag? Jim couldn’t wait to annoy him. “A person of interest on our side has apparently made you a person of interest on hers.”

Jim cupped his jaw with one hand, resting his elbow on his knee.  His eyes grew bright. He breathed, “Elizabeth Simple. Polecat.”

Harry nodded.  “Just so.” He didn’t seem surprised, and oh how Jim loved it when his reputation proceeded him.

Never breaking eye contact, Jim gave a frightening grin.  “She used something called Imperius on me, gave me a magical compulsion to find Miss Hooper and ‘fuck her through her mattress’, though that part was mostly me, gave me a cursed ring and put _part of herself inside of my head_.”

Harry went very pale.  “Good lord,” he whispered.  He gestured to his throat. “Did she…”

Jim found the smooth collar and musical chain.  He’d nearly forgotten he was wearing it, it had become something of a second skin.  He gave a soft, wistful smile, which was somehow the scariest expression Harry had ever seen, “No, that was Molly.  My little witch made me this out of my revolver. Chained me to the floor like a pet. Ah, I miss her so.” He stared into space dreamily for a minute, before his midnight eyes snapped back into focus and darted over to Harry.  “Are we going to get her back?”

Harry pushed his glasses up, “I’m going to try.”

Jim rolled his eyes.  “Not you, _we_.  I’m a _consulting criminal_ , Sherlock is a _consulting detective_ , I’m very sure between even just the _two_ of us, we could bring one bitch down and one Molly Hooper back where she belongs.”

“And _where_ does she belong, Moriarty?”  Sherlock’s poisonous voice floated from the kitchen, where he’d been changing the dressing for his broken nose.  Sherlock was in a clean, tidy suit, precisely tailored, and Jim was conspicuously aware of every wrinkle in his Westwood.  Sherlock firmly ignored Harry Potter, refusing to acknowledge him. Jim noticed and filed it away for later. He was calm now, but had Jim really missed his big reaction to a real live wizard in his home?  Sherlock was so stoic, it took so much to make him react, and Jim was desperately looking forward to baiting him into an explosion.

Jim and Sherlock stared at each other, faces blank, before Jim leaned back, letting the silver chain fall down his chest and between his legs.  He gave it a tug and didn’t blink.

Harry sat awkwardly in the middle while neither one of the men spoke.

Sherlock scoffed and looked away first, missing the devil grin that flew over Moriarty’s face.

He turned those black, fathomless eyes back to Harry, “You’ll probably have to look in my mind.  Molly...didn’t like what she saw. Said she couldn’t figure it out.”

Harry sighed and took out his wand.  “Not here. I’m taking both of you back to my office.  It’ll be safer there.”

“Let me put Toby down with Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock bit out, tucking the soft feline into the crook of his arm and stomping down the stairs.

Jim looked over to Harry, who had whipped his wand out and muttered an apology, “Sorry, Mr. Moriarty, but this is going to be easier if you’re asleep for it.  I just need to run a quick diagnostic.”

Before Jim could protest, Harry had set him under a gentle sleeping spell, and he fell back on the couch.

 

* * *

 

While Margaret Orpington slept and woke and fornicated and slept in turn, Molly Hooper dreamed.

She was in her safe house, on the couch with Jim, and he was pressing gentle kisses and slow bites to her arms and shoulders.  They were naked, except for his collar. She dragged a finger over the skin warmed metal, and murmured, “Why don’t you take this off?  This isn’t real.”

He dragged his face over her chest and up her neck, latching on to her pulse point.  “I like it.”

She closed her eyes as he rolled his hips under her.  “Do you?”

He grinned against her.  “Of course. It reminds me of the time Molly Hooper beat Jim Moriarty.  When you come back, though, I might ask you to turn it into something a little smaller.”

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and he pressed his hands against her back in return.  “I don’t know, Jim, I’ve made myself my own Richard Brook and I really think Elizabeth is going to kill me.  If I can’t come back, and no other wizard finds you, you’ll have to wear that until you die.”

He ran one hand down her back to her hips, snorting.  “No need to worry about that, I’m with some tosser named Harry Potter.  If he doesn’t cut this thing off of me from sheer disgust I’ll be _amazed_.  And if he does, I’ll just choke him with the chain until he puts it back.”

Molly flung herself away from him, landing in an untidy heap on the ground.  “ _Harry Potter?_ ‘Saved the world from Voldemort, famous Auror, husband to the Hollyhead Harpies star Ginny Weasley’ Harry Potter?”

He sat on the couch, still naked, frowning.  “...I guess so. One of those words was familiar.”  Jim crawled down onto the ground next to her. “This is odd, isn’t it?  I absolutely do not know what most of those words mean. They shouldn’t be here, in my head.”

Molly reached out one hand to his face, cupping his cheek, pressing her fingertips into his soft flesh.  “Are we sharing a dream space? A collective unconsciousness? It’s not unheard of, I might have left part of myself in your head, part of my magical signature, but…”

She was cut off as Jim lunged at her, pressing her back into the ground and kissing her violently.  His tongue slid against hers and his teeth bit her lips until they were red. He ran his hands up and down her body, over every part of her.  “You _left_ me, little witch.”  The accusation was low, intense and raw.

Molly almost sobbed as she pulled Jim down to her, running her hands over his shoulders and down his back.  Quietly, “I’m sorry, Jim, I had to. I have to do this alone. That’s the way these things are done, and that is the way I must do it.  Alone.”

He pressed his forehead into hers, squeezing his eyes shut.  The compulsion to hold her to him was so strong, the spell pulsing somewhere in his brain. “You don’t get to leave _me_ , Molly Hooper.  Our deal, remember?  I’m with your stupid magic cop hero, and it’s going to be _me_ that saves you and this entire hidden world, and then you’ll have to be mine.”

She ran her hands into his hair.  “I never agreed to that, Jim.”

He took a deep breath of her hair and froze.  He pulled back and looked around, eyes flicking back and forth as if he was listening…

His voice was icy cold, completely devoid of emotion, “Are you having sex right now?”

She looked up, also concentrating.  “Oh, probably. I’m buried pretty deep, at the very bottom of my consciousness.  My ‘Richard Brook’ persona has someone in bed. I need her to build up life experience that’s different than mine.  He’s blond, does manual labor. She likes that.”

Jim went silent.

She flicked her gaze to him.  “I...I didn’t think it was possible for you to be actually jealous.”

He snorted and rolled off of her.  “I’m _not_.”

She relaxed back onto the familiar black and yellow Persian rug.  “I just need to hide while I build a plan. Changed my face, changed my name, changed the entire person.”

He looked over at her, so comfortable, so uncaring about what her body was doing while her mind was here with him.  He knew better than to ask anything that might give her away.

“What’s she afraid of?”  He tossed out.

Molly closed her eyes and smiled. “ _Nothing_.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Fundamental mistake.  Everyone is scared of something, especially people who don’t act like it.  I’ll give you mine: Richard Brook was scared of Sherlock Holmes, but before that, he was scared of _spiders_.”  He gave her a grin like a knife.

She put her arms above her head. “Oh, so he was scared of you?”

He leaned over her and held her wrists where they were.  “Isn’t everyone?”

She smiled up at him, “Not me.”

Tugging on the chain with his free hand, he whispered, “ _Liar_ ,” before claiming her mouth with his.  The kiss was long and gentle as they savored each other.

When they parted, she gasped, “Bodies.  She’s afraid of dead things. Won’t even visit a butcher.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, “That’s my girl.  My little witch.”

Time ran differently here, and even though it was only a few minutes for them, it felt like hours, like a deep, velvety midnight.

He helped her the entire night, small things, nothing that would identify her, but just enough to flesh out her persona.  Correcting small tells that her ‘Richard Brook’ was a fake. Gait, the way Molly smiled at children and ugly cardigans, even the way she bent her knee when soundly kissed.  All of that had to be different enough.

When dawn was approaching, signifying their minds rising up out of sleep, Jim lay next to her, leg thrown on top of hers, arms twined around her torso.  “The next time we meet, I should walk right past you and not even know Molly Hooper is in the same city. That’s how good it should be, little witch, it should fool even me.  Me and this stupid enchantment in my head.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You can do it, I know you can. Learning from the best.”

So typically Jim, encouragement that flattered him to the core.  She closed her eyes and turned her head to him. “If your Imperius starts...hurting, just remember we have this space.  I’m pretty sure we’ll see each other here again, and maybe that intrinsic knowledge will be able to fake it.” She pressed closer.  “Stay safe, Jim. Just...stay safe.”

He murmured his assurances while the false sun rose and they both faded away.


	15. Portus

While Margaret Orpington made herself a life and a history and loved every second of it, while Molly Hooper laid deep inside of her mind and tried frantically to remember everything she’d learned about how to commit a genocide with science and how to sabotage each one, Jim Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes got a taste of the mundane in the magical world.

At 221B, Harry Potter had created a Portkey, charming an old crisp bag.  When everyone grabbed a corner, Jim and Sherlock couldn’t help but jab at one other with their elbows while glaring out of the corners of their eyes.  The shuffling and slight pushes rustled the bag and Harry got a glazed, pained look on his face. “Boys, play nice.” He used the tone of a parent that _always_ was obeyed.

Jim and Sherlock stopped immediately.  They looked away from each other and Sherlock straightened his blazer while Jim ran his tongue over his teeth and shoved his hand in his trouser pocket.  They each held the crisp packet delicately, a corner held between thumb and index finger. Harry sighed, “You need to grip the bag, otherwise you’re going to fly off into God-knows-where.”

Having taken magical transportation before, Molly’s description of splinching still fresh in his mind, Jim didn’t hesitate to take a handful of bag.

Sherlock looked confused but cautiously held his corner with two additional fingers.

The Portkey activated and swirled them away.

When they landed in Harry’s shared office, Sherlock did not let go gracefully, stumbling into a tower of books, knocking them over and running into a filing cabinet before landing face first against the wall and sliding down.  He made a noise that was half between a groan and a gag, grabbing a waste bin and hanging his head over it. Jim simply leaned against the second desk, his legs shaking only a little. He casually turned his head, leaned over, and vomited directly into the silver bin next to the desk.  He pulled out his pocket square and wiped primly at his mouth before asking, “Is there water?”

Harry was clearing a small mountain of paper airplanes off of his desk before silently conjuring two glasses and filling them with a silent Aquamenti.  Jim drank both and set the empty glasses neatly back on the edge of the overfull desk.

Sherlock stumbled up and shook out his hair.  He looked at the empty glasses, looked at Moriarty’s relaxed stance before muttering “Rude.”

Harry looked up, eyes darting between them before removing his spectacles to rub at the currently aching spot right in the middle of his brow.  He blindly took his wand out and filled up one of the glasses, banishing the other.

Sherlock drank the entire thing in one long swallow, staring directly at Moriarty’s face, which looked like it was going to say something _very_ inappropriate as soon as Sherlock came up for air, but then they were interrupted by a ginger opening the office door.

Sherlock finished his water loudly, and Jim looked disappointed to have missed the opportunity for innuendo.

The ginger standing in the doorway had his hair shoved back from his face, was dressed in the same style robes as Harry (‘Uniform’, Jim and Sherlock thought together) and really did not look amused.  He took a cursory glance behind him before quietly stepping in and shutting the door.

“Harry, these are Muggles.”  He said it like a fact that he wanted Harry to refute.

“...Yeah.”  Harry gave the ginger a nervous looking smile, his face turning boyish.  “Look, Ron, it wasn’t safe to leave them…”

Ron flicked his wand to send Jim zipping off of his desk, landing neatly next to Sherlock.  “We’re working a case, mate. Elizabeth Simple, remember? Or did that _slip your mind_?”

Jim was already bored of this tension and touchy about being moved around by magic.  Only Molly Hooper got to boss him around with her little wand. “Would you two leave your personal lives at the door?  My God, either fuck or get _over_ it already.”

Ron and Harry both turned bright red, Ron sputtering, “It’s not... he’s like my _brother_..” while Harry couldn’t stop the pained wheeze that came out, “ _No._ ”

Sherlock was conspicuously silent, tall and still in his Belstaff next to Jim.  His eyes were flying all around the office, and Jim suddenly clapped him on the back.  Hard as he could, and Sherlock didn’t even waver. Internally, Jim sighed. He’d have to get a gym membership or see if Molly could just ensorcell his biceps.

“Sherlock, these two gentlemen are wizards.  Wizard police, if I am not mistaken. The sticks are wands, the drama is entirely too real, and there’s a magical terrorist targeting our very own Molly Hooper.”  Everyone in the office stopped and stared at him. Jim shrugged, “He looked confused. It’s more fun when everyone knows the kind of game we’re playing.” He beamed at Sherlock, who still looked incredibly dazed.

Ron went over to his desk, viciously pulling out the chair, “Look, mate, I don’t know why you know all of that, or even how you know Molly Hooper, but...”

Jim rolled his eyes and nudged Sherlock’s stiff side with his elbow.  “How many more times am I gonna have to repeat it, you think? Should I just start killing them instead?”  Sherlock’s disapproving eyes flicked down to his and his face turned down in annoyance. Jim shook his head and said, “Ugh, alright.  I used to date Molly,” Sherlock had to bite his tongue and Jim _knew_ it, “Elizabeth Simple tried to become a client of mine, mind controlled me when I said ‘No, what you want to do is boring,’ and left some weird piece of magic in my brain for Molly to find and she was _very_ concerned about that, thank you, so really, you _need_ me for your little investigation.”  He gave a wide smile, “Oh, and she gave me a cursed ring to wear.  Molly took it off, though, and it turned into sort of a time-release homing beacon?  Not sure, but she said it was clever.”

Ron leaned back, looking horrified.  Harry was holding his head in his hands.

Sherlock was lightly bouncing on his heels.  “Magic is real. You two are wizards. Molly...is a witch.  Molly Hooper has magic.” He looked distressed. “Molly Hooper has magic, and I had no idea.  She really _did_ vanish into thin air.”

“Very smart, Sherlock.”  Jim nodded and rolled his eyes again.

“Who _are_ you?” Ron had a very confused look on his face.  Jim felt the longing to slap it, but refrained. The memory of Crucio still ran down his spine from time to time.

Instead, he gave a neat quarter bow and introduced himself.  “Jim Moriarty. Consulting criminal. This is my nemesis Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.”  He slung his arm around Sherlock’s tall shoulders. “We make quite the pair, do we not?”

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, knocking Moriarty’s arm down.  “He causes problems, I solve them.”

Jim sneered. “Or the other way around, depending on your end goal.”

Sherlock ignored him, “As much as it pains me to say it, if Molly is in danger, I’m going to request to look at all of the data you have.  Even if there’s... magic... involved, I may be able to assist.”

Jim nodded next to him.  “Elizabeth Simple came to me, I can only imagine she actually wanted to use my services at some point.  I can predict what she’s likely to do next. Or, at the very least, I’d be able to tell you what _I_ would do, which might even be more interesting.”

Ron and Harry locked eyes, having the sort of silent discussion that came from years of friendship before giving almost imperceptible nods and looking over to Jim and Sherlock.

“First, we have to get you to...fit in.”  Ron stroked his chin thoughtfully, Harry already scribbling out a missive.

 

* * *

 

That night found Jim and Sherlock each with a room at the Leaky Cauldron.  For their protection, and the implied protection of the other patrons of the Leaky, Jim stayed with Ron while Harry stayed with Sherlock.

Both noted that Harry seemed a little relieved to not be going home, and Ron was extremely put out.  He stabbed at his dinner and sat as far away from Harry as he possibly could.

Jim ate his Shepard’s pie neatly, but wouldn’t stop staring delightedly between them, waiting for some kind of brawl to break out.  He thought of antagonizing them, but explosions were so much more _fun_ when they weren’t planned.

Sherlock barely touched his steak and kidney pie, but drank all of his Butterbeer.

They parted to their rooms, Jim throwing a wink and a “See you boys bright and early, don’t stay up _all_ night!” mostly to Sherlock and partly to see Harry Potter’s look of absolute regret at having brought this terrible Muggle to the Wizarding World.  They slammed the door in his face.

Ron waited for Jim to stroll past him, then closed and warded the room.

“Well-”

“Don’t talk to me,” Ron growled, stomping to the bathroom and slamming the door.

“Toooouchy.” Jim murmured.

He stopped to admire his reflection in the mirror, he’d had been outfitted with some handsome robes an artificial wand earlier in the day.  The fittings had taken very little time, but the lessons on how to act naturally with a wand had taken much longer. Magic folk had a very fascinating different internal rhythm and natural confidence that he’d been delighted to observe and imitate.

Sherlock had a sixteen-inch ebony wand, dark as his hair, which he was told would have had a dragon heartstring core.

Jim’s was...very interesting.  A man named Olivander had come in to do wand matching as if they were wizards, and while he had warned that it wouldn’t be completely accurate, he could make a suggestion that he thought would be up to ninety-five percent plausible.  He had even provided the placebo wands, conveniently without a core, so even if a real witch or wizard got their hands on it, no magic could be cast. Jim’s wand was twelve inches, yew, and would have contained a thestral hair core. ‘Death and death and death,’ Olivander had murmured.

Jim had been put out at the length difference of their wands, until Olivander had looked at him with rheumy eyes and said, “Wand the same size as Molly Hooper’s, and the decay to her birth.  I am very not surprised.” Jim had been stunned, then a slow, frightening smile had spread over his face.

And now, here in this room, he could not wait to fall asleep and tell Molly Hooper that one day, if she was lucky, she’d get to see his wand.  If he was lucky, the wand would follow him into the dreamspace. The look on her face when he whipped out the real thing, instead of the euphemism...

By the time Ron came out of the bathroom in a long striped sleep shirt, with combed hair and minty breath, Jim had already snuggled under the blankets and closed his eyes.  He smiled in his sleep, which the wizard found incredibly creepy.

He paused and cast a Protego around his bed, so Jim couldn’t kill him while he was resting.  For an added measure, he hooked the chain to the bedpost.

Banishing the light, he curled up in the thick blankets and tried to fall asleep.  It was a long time before his breathing evened out and he fell into his own dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that chapter was late! Another one next week-ish, hopefully.


	16. Salvio Hexia

In the dream space, Jim had been delighted to find that his outfit from the day had carried over.  They were back in the house again, this time late afternoon sun streaming through the windows.

Molly appeared a little after him, in a red silk nightgown with a plunging neckline.  He gave a whistle. She looked down and blinked rapidly, “I wasn’t wearing this a minute ago,” she muttered before she looked up and really caught his ensemble.  Her eyes got wide, “Oh my. Did Harry Potter give you those?”

The dove grey silk suit underneath was almost Muggle, but the coat was too long, a little too close to a frock coat, and the trouser slightly too fitted.  There was no tie, and the shirt was buttoned high on his neck. Jim had tucked his silver chain into the pocket on his vest, and the shirt almost covered the bright metal of his collar.  His shoes were polished black leather, and his outer robe was a few shades lighter than the suit, but finely finished with sharp seams. The weighted fabric billowed at his every movement.

He gave a spin for her, and she clapped her hands delightedly.  “Oh, whoever Harry got to be the tailor did a marvelous job.”

He sauntered over to her, “Somebody named ‘Patil’, a lovely little lady with the finest figure...outside of this space, of course.”  She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes.

“I went to school with the Patil twins, they weren’t in Hufflepuff but we crossed paths enough.  I’d heard they opened up shop, but haven’t been there myself.” She reached out to smooth the front of his robes down, rubbing the expensive fabric between her fingers.

“Speaking of fine figures,” he murmured, reaching out with one finger to flick the thin shoulder strap down her arm.  He traced the lacy edge down to the swell of her bosom, and she fought back a blush. “I think I had something like this in mind for you, how interesting that it manifested.”

He leaned in and kissed her before she could admonish him, soft and slow, running his hands over her silky waist.  She sighed into him and pressed herself closer. When she gave a little wiggle that went all the way down his torso, she paused and pulled back from the kiss, Jim nipping her lower lip as she went.

She furrowed her brow and looked at him.  “Jim, is that a wand in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

He grinned, “Why can’t it be both?” His grin turning sly, he pulled out his false wand.  “The Misters Potter and Weasley want Sherlock and I to fit into the Wizarding world. This is part of that.  Is there any chance you know how to handle a wand, Miss Hooper?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “A few pointers?”

She was concentrating on his wand, reaching out and touching it lightly with her fingertips.  Jim nearly dropped it in shock as it gave a happy hum under her touch and flared with a mild heat.  “What is this made of?” She looked dreamy, her eyes unfocused as she traced the geometric carvings over his wand with one finger.

The warmth from the wand was spreading up his arm, and he couldn’t help but answer her.  “Yew and, the older gentleman, he said that if it had a core, it would be thestral hair. Harry told me what those are.  Weird dead horse things with wings.”

She shivered long and low, materializing her wand, with its delicate art nouveau vines carved into it, in her palm and lining it up with his.  “Mine is willow and unicorn hair.”

He nodded slightly, unable to take his eyes off of her.  “He told me. He said this wand was the decay to your birth.  The death to your life.”

When she brought her wand closer to his, they both felt the burst of energy and the happy trill of magic.

She stopped and pulled her wand away, even though it was very clearly difficult for her.  She set it on the end table and bit her lip. “He said it didn’t have a core?”

Jim nodded, holding his wand dumbly.  “But a _wand_ needs a core, right?  He heavily implied that this is a carved wooden stick, completely useless.”

Her eyes still weren’t focusing properly.  “He was lying. It does have a core. It must.”  She shook her head and her eyes sharpened. “It could also just be the magic I left in you reacting to me.  Splinters of myself, all over the place.” She smiled sadly. “Such a mess.” She rubbed her head with her hand.  “It’s getting harder, sometimes, to push my ‘Richard Brook’ away and come back. My ‘Richard Brook’ likes her life.  I have to kill her soon, I think. I’m almost…” Molly bit her tongue and looked up at him apologetically.

He held up his hand to ward off her apology.  “I understand. I don’t want to know. But little witch, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you…” he pulled her back into his arms. “You’ll be just fine after killing anyone you have to.”  Moriarty leaned in and soundly kissed her.

Molly hated herself for a moment, but had to acknowledge that he was right.  Her path to hell was looking more and more like moral ambiguity and a knife sharp smile, both framed in fear.

She pushed his robe off of his shoulders and his fingertips dug into her waist.

 

* * *

 

Afterward, while they lay on the rug that was much softer in her mind than it had been in reality, Moriarty tracing ‘I O U’ down her spine and back up again, Molly sleepily asked, “Jim, if you had to kill a lot of people at once, how would you do it?”  Her eyes were closed so she didn’t have to see his face.

“Do you want to know I _would_ do it, or how I _have_ done it?”  He kissed the spot behind her ear, smoothing away his promises down her spine with his palm.  He sing-songed, “Don’t forget who I a~aaam.”

She buried her face against his bare chest, “As if I could.  I want both, I suppose.” She didn’t have the luxury of being offended, or morally upright, or ignorant of the wealth of his experience.  She had to be _prepared_.

He started tracing the letters over her back again.  “I usually use bombs. Co-ordinated assassins, that sort of thing.  Poison doesn’t always work, and if the wind blows wrong or you forget and take a drink of contaminated water, you’ll get caught in the crossfire.  Conditioning the populace to accept the murder of a certain type of person takes time, too much time to keep my attention, and besides, it’s _messy_.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “Why do you want to know, little witch?”

She burrowed closer, “I’m running out of _time_.  She’s going to get me eventually, and I have to know how to sabotage whatever she’s going to tell me to do.”

Jim sighed deeply.  “Sherlock and I are working on it.  The wizards are helping, I guess. I’m not sure what they’re doing, honestly.  There’s so much delicious _tension_ in the air.”

Molly opened her eyes and pushed herself up, his arm sliding down her waist to rest on her hip.  “Jim, promise me you won’t try to cast any spells. I’m really not sure if what goes in here has any reflection on the outside world, but if your body isn’t set up to hold magic… there could be side effects.  Bad ones.”

They both woke up and faded before he could respond.

Molly didn’t feel good about what she thought he would have said, or the glint in his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month and I have nothing to say except I've been having a real hard time. Sorry about the lateness, friends.
> 
> This chapter coming at all is due to the unavoidably beautiful Senneres.


	17. Petrificus Totalus

When Molly slowly opened her eyes, she got the feeling that she’d been sleeping for a very long time.  Margaret Orpington had been dallying with Orion again, and his strong, heavily muscled arm was slung over her little waist.  His blond hair fell over the pillow like a waterfall of gold. He was gorgeous.

Molly found herself disgusted.

She quietly wiggled out from under him and grabbed her robe from the floor, wrapping it around herself.  She caught her reflection as she was walking to the loo, and stopped to study it. She didn’t recognize the face in the mirror, which was probably a good thing for her plan, but she felt...unclean.  Off balance.

Molly had been living at the Calluna Inn for a week.  Her new robes were due to be delivered today, and then she would bid a sorry, sad, teary farewell to Orion.  Or she would forget about him as soon as she left the room. One or the other.

She would be overjoyed to leave this quaint, sleepy, beautiful, boring place.

Margaret Orpington was delighted to find a package from the atelier set beside the door when she quietly opened it.  She was dressed in her new color changing robes (which shifted between sapphire and cobalt before settling to a deep aquamarine), neatly packed, had broken her fast and paid her bill by the time Orion stumbled down the stairs.  He moved to kiss her and she swept past him, a little wave, a little kiss blown his way, and then she was out the door and already gone with a soft ‘pop’.

He wouldn’t realize she had left without really saying goodbye until he found she'd checked out and taken all of her things.

A witch in lovely blue robes swished through the door and he plastered another charming smile on his face that he really didn't feel.

 

* * *

 

Margaret Orpington apparated into London and went immediately to the Leaky Cauldron.  She confidently reached for the door when it suddenly opened and she almost ran straight into Jim Moriarty.  He was in the same dove grey robes from last night, and with his easy confidence and natural grace, he looked every inch a wizard. He looked her up and down and gave a wolfish grin.  Molly blinked as she rapidly analyzed his expression. There was no realization, no acknowledgment, only Jim giving a pretty girl a look he thought was flirtatious.

He didn’t recognize her.

Margaret fluttered her eyelashes and pitched her voice to a sultry timbre that would have embarrassed Molly Hooper to death.  “Hey there handsome. Thanks for holding the door for a witch.” She winked at him and sashayed by, her aquamarine robes sparkling in the light.  She felt his eyes on her back as she walked up to the bar.

Sherlock stalked by her, every inch as elegant as Jim in his deep navy robes that brought out the blue in his eyes.  He didn’t look at her, even as her eyes followed him across the pub.

Harry Potter, with a hat pulled low over his scar, and Ron Weasley hurried out after them, both of them seeming to scold Jim for trying to leave the pub.  He didn’t look impressed and didn’t remove his hand from the knob, keeping the door open. He was starting to get dirty looks from the other patrons, who did not appreciate the breeze.  Harry’s face was doing a spectacular imitation of a ripe tomato.

Margaret ordered a gillywater and a caramel cobweb, determined to enjoy the show.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Jim let go of the door with a little push, his face still impassive.  He timed it so that the heavy oak thumped right into Draco Malfoy, his wife Astoria, and their son Scorpius as they tried to stride past the entryway. Margaret hid her delight behind one delicate hand as Draco looked down at his scuffed shoe and his son’s slightly reddened nose.  Astoria looked deeply offended.

“Whoops.”  Jim deadpanned.

“ _Potter_.” Draco spat.

“Watch your step, Malfoy,”  Harry said brightly, his face now just slightly flushed.

Draco and Astoria glared at Harry and Ron while they escorted Scorpius toward the entrance for Diagon Alley.

Jim watched them go with mild interest.  “What an attractive family.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and slid his eyes sideways, “You know that they…”

“Of course, Sherlock.  I’m not dimwitted.”

Potter and Weasley just stared, and Margaret debated ordering a second caramel cobweb.

She was interrupted from her viewing by a familiar face plopping down next to her.  Orion gave her a tight smile that looked like it was trying to be charming, golden hair pulled back into a neat ponytail and a very Muggle leather jacket hugging his toned arms.  Oh  _shit_.  If they attracted attention, if any of that quartet looked over, it was highly possible that her cover was going to be blown.  She blanched and hissed, “How did you even FIND me?”

He plunked a heavy gold coin in the counter.  “I found this on the bedside. I thought maybe it was _payment_ , but then I looked closer.”  He leaned in. “You were in Dumbledore’s Army.”

She froze.

No.

Absolutely not.

She was sure she’d chucked that coin out into the forest, with the ring but...maybe she hadn’t.  Because she was an IDIOT. Maybe she’d left it in her trunk, like a completely brainless airhead fool.

He smiled, “I’m pretty upset with how you left, but if that’s a calling card, it’s a good one.  Charming it to tell me you’re in the Leaky? Very cute.”

If it had been buried in her trunk, how had it gotten onto the nightstand?  She was sure she hadn’t pulled it out. Absolutely sure. And she would have absolutely not charmed it to tell him where she was going to be.  Her hands turned white as she gripped her gillywater silently, feeling her lips draw down into a vicious frown. She had to leave.

She had to leave _now_.

Orion was saying something, leaning in, and her eyes flicked to catch Harry and Ron herding the two geniuses to the back of the bar, out to the entrance of Diagon Alley.  She watched them go until a calloused, scarred hand waved in front of her face.

She turned to look at Orion, who was frowning.  “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying.”

Margaret sighed, “No, darling, I’m sorry.  I must have… let my attention wander.”

He leaned closer and purred, “You always were a little flighty, _Molly_.”  When she shot her head up, he gave her a sharp grin that didn’t sit well on his face, “Whoops, I mean _Margaret_.”

The coin, glowing on the bartop, flashed with the words ‘GOT YOU’.

Margaret screamed as Orion grabbed the coin and her wrist, the illegal Portkey charm on the coin activating a heartbeat after.

There was an uproar at the bar, and half of the patrons pulled their wands, but it was too late.

They were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!! Let me know what you thought.


	18. Incarcerous

Molly waited anxiously in the dreamspace, wearing the robes from the Leaky, pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back again.  Her dreamspace hadn’t formed with the staircase to the upper level, not yet, otherwise, she would have made a restless path through the entire house.  Her robes darkened from aquamarine to a green so dark it was nearly black and had started to bleed a panicked yellow-orange at the borders.

She called out for Jim, with her magic, with her soul, screaming his name into the void.

After an agonizing lifetime, he showed up.  Her robes immediately brightened back to aquamarine.  His nose was bloody, his eye was a lovely reddish-purple and starting to swell shut.  Molly stopped short, looking him up and down. “Wh-”

“Harry Potter punched me,” he said curtly, pulling out his pocket square to hold it to his nose.  “I only have a few-” He paused and really got a look at her outfit, his eyes racing over her. “Hang on.  Was that YOU?”

She gave him a watery smile.  “Yeah. You said it would be so good not even you would recognize me, right?”  She hiccuped, a tear spilling out of her eye unbidden and falling down her cheek.  “It worked on you, but not on _her_.  She got me, Jim.”  Her smile started to crumble and she gasped.

He tilted his head to an almost inhuman angle, his eyes intense.  “What?” His voice was heavy, flat, and there was a river of rage running through the word.

She nodded, folding her arms and clasping her elbows tightly.  “I...I’m unconscious right now. We’re only ever here when we’re… not awake.  I don’t know what she did, but... She got me right in the Leaky Cauldron.” At his confused face, she quickly amended, “The pub.  The one you were just at. I think it was a Portkey. She… oh God Jim, I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry, she’s got me and she’s doing who knows WHAT to my body right now, I-”

He strode over and pulled her into his arms.  “What was your Richard Brook’s name? Tell me everything you can, as quickly as possible.  I’m not sure when I’m going to wake up.” He took a deep breath, and the tips of his fingers dug uncomfortably into her shoulder blades, “And then, when I find _Elizabeth Simple_ , I’m going to _skin_ her.”  The long, slick ‘s’ turned into a hiss in his mouth, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his sharp teeth.

Quickly and quietly, Molly gave a post mortem on her time as Margaret Orpington.  She ended with Orion at the bar, “I don’t know if it was really him under Imperius or a glamour, go back to Montrose and find out anything you can.  The Calluna Inn, his name was Orion, like the constellation.” She buried herself against him, trying to memorize the smell of his skin and the feel of his arms around her.

In the next heartbeat, before he could offer any reassurance, Jim was ripped violently away from her, flung back into consciousness. Molly found herself sprawled on the rug, and she slowly curled into a ball.

Once again, she was alone.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Harry’s _Ennervate_ hit him, Jim bounced to his feet and screamed.  He swung at the first thing he saw, a brick wall without enough sense to be somewhere else.  He punched it hard enough to give himself an instant boxer’s fracture, leaving a fist-shaped dent in the brick, before turning and giving Harry an unbalanced look that made him take two steps back and draw his wand.  He hissed through his broken nose, “ _She_ has her.  What is a Portkey and how do you track it?”  His voice was smooth and low and full of poison.

“I... what?  How do you-”  Just like that, Jim was entirely done with these slow, stupid magic police.  Supposed to be the best? How could they not answer such a _simple_ question?  How could they delay him even further, how could they have been in the same _room_ as Elizabeth Simple and _not known_?  The tendrils of Imperius tightened in his brain, and Moriarty snapped.

“We share a space, in our heads, Molly and I,” he roared, “and that is really not important right now, what’s important is that if we go back to that bar, there’s going to be _chaos_ because Elizabeth Simple just stole Molly Hooper right out from under us and _I have to get her back.”_

At his shout, he felt a hot, awful power well up under his skin, like anger made tangible, like he was going to _explode_ with the force of it.

Almost without thinking, with a motion that had too many echos of Molly Hooper to really be called his own, he drew his artificial yew and thestral hair wand and pointed it at Harry.  With a hiss, he uttered the first spell he’d ever heard, “ _Stupefy.”_

Magic, red, sparking and entirely unstable, sizzled out of his wand and tossed Harry Potter clean across the alley.

Jim was snapped out of his mania by the shock of it, the feel of magic burning through his nervous system in lieu of magical pathways, and he didn’t even see the rapid-fire _Expelliarmus, Incarcerous_ and answering _Stupefy_ coming his way from Ron Weasley.

His own wand flew out of his hand, the ropes toppled him off-balance, and the sudden unconsciousness was a mercy as he landed face first on the cement, his bloodied nose giving way with a loud crunch.

 

* * *

 

He exploded into the dreamspace, tripping over a pile of books.  He fell into another, larger heap and Molly ran out from the kitchen.  “Jim!” Her face when he looked up…

“How bad is it?”  He had a moderately good idea of the damage, but Molly would be able to give him a valid assessment.

“Well,” she stepped over the tomes, “it’s absolutely broken this time.  I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to fix it right now, but it turns out this place doubles as a mind palace and I’ve been doing some reading.  Let me just… ” She concentrated, passing her hand over his face.

Sharp pain as the bones righted themselves, and feeling his flesh rapidly knit back together was nothing short of _bizarre_ , but when she was finished, his face was whole and hale.

“Very nice, little witch, thank you.”  He reached down and casually opened a book, flipping through it.  Some words were missing, entire pages blank, and he made a thoughtful noise.  He raised his eyebrow, it must have been a memory. The writing was all Molly, but the subject wasn’t clinical and lacked her professional touch.  Unless she corrected him, he refused to waste time asking how it worked. “You can’t remember all of it, that’s fine. You just need to remember _enough_.”

She nibbled her lip and said, cautiously, “Actually, I was hoping you could help with an experiment.  I know you don’t have magic-”

“Oh, about that,” He casually put his hands back in his pockets.  “I do. I hit Harry Potter with a _Stupefy_ , that cute little spell you kept using on me.  It was… It felt strange.” He got a far away look in his eye and his wand materialized in his hand.  He waved it and strange, irregular sparkles exploded out. They alternated between a saturated red and curiously impenetrable black.

Molly’s face froze.  She grabbed his wand and waved it, a flurry of even golden sparkles appearing.  “It feels like mine. But...darker.” She sucked her teeth, staring at the wand.  “Hold out your hand,” she told him absently.

He did so, palm up.

“Now,” she said, “visualize something you know about in the form a book.  Everything you know is written in the pages, blanks where there are forgotten memories, and bind it carefully together.  Imagine it sitting in the palm of your hand.”

Ah.  Good.  She didn’t want to waste time either.  He knew he liked her for a reason, his little witch.  He concentrated, pulling a random topic from the depths of his mind, and opened his eyes in shock when he felt a sudden weight in his palm.  He wasn’t expecting the heft and dropped the tome in his surprise. It fell to the carpet with a muffled thump.

Molly knelt down and picked it up, turning it over in her hands.  It was bound in oxblood leather, a stylized golden ‘M’ on the spine and an embossed Celtic knot on the cover.  She opened it up and raised her eyebrow. “You...studied Celtic knots.” She flipped between the illustrated plate in the book and the cover a few times.  “This is a pretty good Sailor’s Knot. Did you-”

He snatched the book back from her, flipping through the pages eagerly.  Yes, there was all of his boyhood research. “How terribly exciting,” he murmured.

Molly grabbed his hand, tossing the book behind her, and beamed at him excitedly.  “I need you to make books on everything you know about self-defense, genocide, and organized crime, specifically murder, subgenus _mass_ murder.  Especially anything you’ve done on the job. Since some of my magic got into you, it should go faster.”

She suddenly looked at his palm closely, running her thumb along his life-line.  “How did that even happen?” She said it softly, more to herself than to him.

He gently withdrew his hand, running it through his hair.  He frowned thoughtfully. “How long has it been, for you? Here, in this place?”

She looked a little dazed, “It feels like days, but I’m assuming it’s been minutes.  Time is different, in areas like this.” She shrugged, “If it’s in your head, there’s a significant amount of control.”

He leaned in and kissed her insistently.  She pressed herself back against him for a moment, then pulled away.  “I have so much to do, Jim, I can’t figure out how you have your magic.  All that matters is that you have it and you’re here.” She pulled him over to the couch.  “Books.”

To demonstrate, she concentrated and formed a slim volume, clothed in snakeskin with a blocky ‘M’ in silver on the spine.  She showed him, “Everything I know about venomous snakes in the UK.” He took it gingerly, a little unnerved when the pages hissed at him when he opened it.

“You don’t know much about adders, do you?”  He absently touched a page, “This part is wrong.  They can also be pure black, not just the striated pattern.”  Under his touch, the words on the page rippled and corrected themselves.

Molly leaned over, taking in the letters flying around the page, whispering, “Cool.”  She quickly snatched the slim volume from his hand and said, “Okay, Mr. Moriarty, it’s your turn.  Time to impart your knowledge.”

She held out her hand again.  This time, he followed suit. They made books for what felt like hours, organizing them by subject and how likely it was Molly was going to need them.  The little library started to build out quickly, and Molly started charming signs to help herself remember the sections. The dream house magically expanded and bookshelves started to pop into existence.

Shortly after Jim created a book on bombs made with common household chemicals, in five different countries, and how to make them virtually untraceable, he disappeared with a soft pop.

Molly let her fingers linger on the thick blue binding, her fingers tracing the stylized ‘M’ on the spine, when she also vanished with a sound like a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think!


	19. Lumos Minima

Molly woke in stages.

First, she denied her eyes the ability to open.  She didn’t want to see what hell she’d been whisked away to.  Avoidance was something she was painfully bad at, and her mind wandered to the time when Sherlock had called, so long ago, and she’d almost, almost, not answered.  Mangled a lemon rather than face him, but that had lasted about two seconds. Avoidance wasn’t her style. It was harder but better to face things head on. Asking Sherlock on a date, having a conversation she’d rather not have when she was feeling vulnerable, saying ‘yes’ to a man she didn’t love because she thought it was what she needed to just move on with her life.

Who knew that all she needed to do was slam Jim Moriarty into a wall with magic to give herself the adventure of a lifetime.

She allowed her body to feel everything around her instead.  The soft sheets, washed with lavender soap, and plump pillows.  The firmness of the mattress she was on. The slight breeze wafting over her, the room smelling mildly of vanilla and brown sugar.  The aroma made her mouth water slightly, and she swallowed. She realized, suddenly, that she was very parched. The air was strangely arid.

She was still clothed, but her slippers had been removed.  The fabric against her skin still felt oddly slippery, so Molly was sure it was her color-changing robes.  Offhandedly, she wondered what hue her panic had shifted them to.

There was a slight pressure on her, a season-appropriate comforter.  She felt perfectly warm and cozy. If it wasn’t for the very real threat that had brought her here, Molly would be content to stay in a bed like this all day.

The next stage of waking up was movement.

She twitched one hand under the blanket, and ran it against the sheets.  Her ears were adjusting, she couldn’t hear anyone else in the room. She wiggled her toes and flexed the muscles in her thighs.  She tightened her abdominal muscles and took in a slightly deeper breath than normal. Just to see if it was possible, she turned her head, so her cheek was touching the other side of the pillow.

Was this how Jim had felt, waking up on his own that first time in the house?  She froze, remembering that solid circle of steel and an unbreakable chain, and extended her senses to all of her extremities.  She couldn’t feel any restraints on her wrists, ankles or throat. Just because she couldn’t feel any pressure didn’t mean something wasn’t there.

The final stage of waking up was sight.

Molly opened her eyes.  In the end, she needn’t have bothered.  It was completely pitch black.

She couldn’t see a thing.

Just to make sure she could still perceive, and to make sure she could still use her magic, Molly softly intoned one of the first wandless spells she’d mastered, to help her study late at night in her dorm.  Elizabeth had been the one to help her perfect it, turning it from a shifting blob that barely flickered to a perfect sphere of soft white light, “ _Lumos Minima_.”

She choked back a sob.

She felt the pull on her magic, she knew the orb was there, a gentle star in the dark room.

Molly knew it was there, but she couldn’t see it.

She was completely blind.

 

* * *

 

Jim woke all at once, and the first thing he thought was, ‘ _I don’t know where Molly Hooper is._ ’  Annoyed, he pushed it to the side.

His second thought was that Harry Potter, or maybe Ron Weasley, the kinky ginger, had found the unbreakable property of his chain, because it had been elongated and attached to both wrists and ankles.  It ran in a tight loop that would let him hobble, as gracefully as he could, and would make it absolutely impossible to run. Clever clever.

His third thought was that he had no idea where he was.  The walls were a rough black rock, damp enough to grow small flora and smell moldy, and he was laying on the uneven ground.  His neck hurt, but it had been worse before at some point, he was sure of it. His back, though, was another story. He winced as he pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning against one damp wall.  He felt like one enormous bruise, and the pain in his nose reaffirmed that whatever healing Molly had done in the dreamspace hadn’t carried over to the real world.

There was one small window, high up and tightly barred, where he could hear the crashing of the waves and oh no, hadn’t Molly told him about this?  Her voice, tired, came unbidden to the forefront of his mind, ‘ _A magical prison on a rock in the middle of the North Sea. It used to be guarded by creatures that could literally eat your soul.’_

For the first time since he’d been deposited on Sherlock’s bed while Molly vanished, Jim felt well and truly abandoned.

He’d been left in a cell in Azkaban.  Wizarding prison.

A trickle of fear slid down his spine, he’d escaped prisons before, but those had run on schedules and electricity and had _doors_.  This one had four solid walls and one window he could maybe stick a skinny arm through, if the chains would let him lift it that high.

He thought about screaming, about flinging himself against the walls, but at his first shout, the reverb told him the walls were _thick_.  Nobody would hear him.  He tried to concentrate on the unhealthy hiss of magic under his skin, remembering how it had bubbled up when he’d cursed Harry Potter, but it felt sludgy and sullen.  It felt like there was something making it thick, like syrup, unable to move through him. An inhibitor, he thought, or a blocker.

Almost as if on cue, a metal tray popped into the corner of the cell, near a cot that had been bolted into the wall and he had been pointedly not laid on.  There was a low table, also bolted into the wall, and a metal chair that slid back on command. He shuffled over awkwardly, and when he tried to move the chair back more, it refused to budge.  Even when he pressed all of his weight on it, it didn’t move. When he sat down, it slid him close enough to reach the food.

There was a bowl of stew that smelled like a French country kitchen, a soft roll, and a metal cup of water with a carafe.  He remembered Molly’s little bottles, all of those potions and a whole wide world of poisons he couldn’t possibly know about, and stared at the hot food for a full five minutes before realizing how empty his stomach was.  Stupid wizards and their instant chloroform spells, he had no idea of how long he’d been asleep for.

If he was going to die, at least it was going to be delicious.

He reached for the spoon before the chain jerked him to a stop.  He ran his tongue over his teeth in annoyance. The length of the chain allowed him to lift his arm just enough to get his hand on the table, not enough to grab the spoon and absolutely not enough to allow him to feed himself.

“May I have a little dignity, please?”  He asked through clenched teeth. Unfortunately, the chain didn’t listen.

He locked his feet together and brought them up as far as he could, giving himself a cramp immediately, but enough slack on the chain to grab the spoon and shovel two bites of stew into his mouth before he had to drop his legs again.  He growled his annoyance but repeating the process it took him about thirty minutes to finish the bowl, drag it closer to wipe up the last bits of thick gravy, tasting heavily of herbs, garlic and red wine, with the roll, and drink one cup of water.

The tray vanished immediately, but the cup and carafe remained.  The chair slid out, a clear sign that he wasn’t to linger.

As soon as he stood up, the chair pushed him out of the way and slid snugly under the table.

“Rude,” he muttered.  Out of curiosity, he tried to move it back again.  It refused. If anything, it seemed to snuggle closer to the table.

He sat on the cot and stared at the grey sky.  He must have been near the water, occasionally a little ocean spray would fly through the bars.  The air tasted strongly of salt, and Jim swallowed, scooting over to the desk to grab the cup, hunching over to take an undignified sip of fresh water.

A thought struck him, uncomfortably, that he’d been put in an oubliette.  A place to forget about people. But he had _information,_ things he needed to find out about Molly Hooper, nee Margaret Orpington, but it felt less important that it had five minutes ago.

He started to feel a little sleepy, forced tiredness and distantly decided that being drugged was absolutely worth the rich beefy stew he’d eaten.  He laid on the cot, eyes on the window, and watched as a gull rode the breeze in front of him as his eyes slipped closed, dreaming of flying.

He found it odd that he didn’t wind up in the dreamspace, but was too exhausted to question it.

 

* * *

 

Molly laid awake for another hour, refusing to move, like a frightened rabbit in a burrow.  Eventually, she got tired of being so passive. The only way forward was up.

One arm heaved the blanket out from on top of her, and she swung herself into a seated position, toes immediately digging into the soft rug at her bedside.  The breeze felt steady and artificial, was it a charm or a fan? There wasn’t the soft whir of blades through the air or the gentle woosh of a vent, so she deduced it was a charm designed to circulate the air in the room.

She closed her eyes, finding the sensation of them being open and useless disorienting.

She shuffled forward, arms in front of her, and ran straight into a soft body that chuckled when she grasped it.  She gasped and tried to shove it away, only to be caught up in the other person’s limbs as they reached out to hold her steady.

“So full of fight, even now.” Elizabeth’s voice was warm, friendly even, as Molly’s stomach grew icy with fear.  Elizabeth’s strong fingers grasped her upper arms to help her stay balanced, holding her close even as she fought to stand back.  “There, there. I won’t hurt you. I’ve gone through so much trouble to have you here with me, Molly, you’re valuable to me.” She said it like she was talking to an unruly child.

“Why can’t I see?” Molly’s voice was high and tight, her shoulders up around her ears.

She could hear the smile in Elizabeth’s amused voice, “Well, I have to have you at a disadvantage somehow, don’t I?  Don’t worry, it’s keyed only to this room. You’ll be able to see in the lab and the library.” She felt something slip onto her face, “Sunglasses, for your protection.  It’s going to be… bright.”

She felt Elizabeth move behind her, hands still gripping her upper arms, and she propelled Molly forward.  They passed through a barrier that felt firm, like wading through hard gelatin, and Molly had to fight for it to let her go.  As soon as she did, and the last tendrils of it fell off of her, her vision came back all at once. She gasped and closed her eyes immediately.  Even with the sunglasses, it was too bright, too intense. She felt tears gathering and blinked rapidly. Fighting through the pain, she squinted and tried to memorize the layout to show Jim… later.  When she saw him again. _When._

The hallway was white, no windows, and every few feet was a closed white door.  The lights were… electric? The floor generic spotted linoleum, the same as her hospital, stainless steel rails on the walls, Molly furrowed her brows and tilted her head.  “Where…”

A firm squeeze to her arms cut her question off, but Elizabeth still answered, “It’s a medical facility, not Saint Mungo’s, but a floor of a Muggle hospital.  This floor has been… modified. It’s slightly displaced, so the magic doesn’t interfere with the rest of the facility. There’s no electricity in this floor. Remember when I helped you with those rune arrays in your… fifth year, I think it was?”  Molly felt Elizabeth nod toward the tube lights in the ceiling. “I applied them here as well. You’ll see a lot of your own little inventions sprinkled through this space.”

Molly ignored the bait, “When you say we’re ‘displaced’, what does that mean?”

Elizabeth giggled in a slightly unhinged way, “Between here and there, this dimension and the next.  Magic already violates so many natural rules, what’s one more?” They kept walking, slowly, Molly having to match her pace to Elizabeth’s longer strides and it gave her an awkward gait.  The older witch continued her explanation, “Haven’t you ever wondered where things go when you banish them? Where you conjure objects from? How is all of it stored? Where does our magic originate from?”  Molly saw a patch of wall that looked strange, warped and inverse, “Ah, yes, there are some… kinks. Some strange places. I’d avoid those if I was you. People tend to not come out once they’ve gone in.” She kept marching them forward.  “There are multiple dimensions, of course, multiverses, we’ve known that for years, as much as the Department of Mysteries wants to cover it up. I’ve found a way to exist in more places than one. Your corporeal body is made up of so many little atoms, so many fiddly little parts, and so many more things we don’t even know about, it’s not that difficult to straddle a line and be in a… between place.  If you wanted, you could stand on the top of the London tower and the bottom of the English Channel at the same time. Just keep most of yourself in the place less likely to kill you.”

“Where am I standing now?”  Molly was quick to ask.

“Between one place and another.”  She stopped in front of stainless steel double doors, the first non-white door Molly had seen in nearly five minutes.  There’d been no ‘Exit’ signs, no stairwells, no elevators, nothing but endless white walls and doors and linoleum.

“This is your stop, my dear.”  Elizabeth kissed the crown of her head and Molly’s skin crawled.  “Have a productive day, spend it getting up to snuff with our current documentation.  Meals will be provided, there’s an attached bathroom, and if you try to walk out of these doors without me, Crucio will feel like being tickled with a feather.”  She turned Molly around and gave her a genuine smile. “I think you’re going to be so interested in what I’ve done so far.”

She pushed Molly through the doors but didn’t follow.

The ward that fell into place felt too much like a heavy bolt sliding into a lock for Molly to do anything other than fight back the urge to cry.

Centering herself and pushing the tears back, she turned and resolutely started to explore this latest chamber of her prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Molls.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	20. Lumos Maxima

Jim was getting very tired of this unnatural sleep cycle.  As he pulled out of his latest nap, it was the middle of the night.  The steady sound of the ocean filled his ears, the little bits of spray sparkling under the thin moonlight.

He sat up, a tray appeared, and he found that his chain had been adjusted to automatically allow enough slack for him to easily reach over and grab it. He studied the chain with a frown on his face, someone must have come in to alter it. Abruptly, he realized he didn’t hurt.  He’d been tampered with. He bit viciously into the sandwich, wishing it was some stupid wizard’s stupid magic _face_. The brown bread was thickly sliced, smoked ham and a sharp, creamy cheese stuffed between.  He was nearly finished when a section of the wall disappeared. He paused, the half-masticated sandwich still on his tongue when Harry Potter stepped through.  As he passed the threshold, thick golden webbing illuminated, and Jim found his eyes following the matrix hungrily. A barrier of some kind. He wondered what if would do if he tried to run through it.

Harry followed his eyes and adjusted his round spectacles, sharp green eyes focusing back on him.  “Ah. That. A ward. I wouldn’t try to pass it, if I were you. The results are… unpleasant, and you wouldn’t escape.”  He pulled out his wand and conjured a sleek armchair, upholstered in black leather. He sat down gracefully and steepled his fingers, regarding Jim Moriarty silently for several minutes.

Jim took the opportunity to finish the sandwich, brushing the crumbs from his wrinkled dress robes afterward.  Almost mockingly, he steepled his own fingers and mirrored Harry’s pose. He slid on the expression he used when he was negotiating with someone annoying and was plotting the best way to murder them after the job was done.  For Harry, he ran through a few different methods, most involving Moran and a _spoon_.  The silence didn’t bother him, and didn’t bother Harry.

Eventually, Harry softly asked, “How did you come by the ability to wield magic?”

“I don’t know.  Molly Hooper theorized she left a trace of her own, a splinter, inside of me, but she didn’t take the time to think about it any further.”  The answer surprised Jim, who hadn’t expected to give it. He eyed the tray sourly. Another potion, terrific. He tried to tell him about Margaret Orpington but found his mouth stubbornly refusing to move.  Was it because he hadn’t been specifically asked? How _annoying_.  He wanted twenty vials.

“Veratiserum.  Quite safe, I assure you.  It just compels you to tell me the truth when asked.”  Harry smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes.

Having not been asked a question, Jim sullenly decided to stay silent.

Harry ran a hand through his unkempt black hair, “How do you know Elizabeth Simple?  Polecat?”

“I know Polecat as a man who tried to elicit the services of my organization, and he was refused.  I have no knowledge of Elizabeth Simple, past that she tried to kill Molly and I on several occasions, and now holds Molly in an undisclosed location.  Molly performed a mind reading spell on me, and afterward informed me that Elizabeth Simple and Polecat are the same person. Elizabeth Simple altered my memory, cast a mind control spell and left a message for Molly inside of my head.”  He shrugged, “From my understanding, her interest in me ended as soon as she got her hands on Molly Hooper. She _used_ me.  Didn’t seem to affect the mind control, though.”  Jim had to bite his tongue to keep from rambling.

Harry was silent for a few more minutes.  “We brought in a mediwitch. She fixed your face,” he gestured vaguely to his own nose, “and ran a full panel.  You, my friend, have been compromised in more ways than one.” He pulled out a roll of yellowed… Jim cocked his head.  Too thick to be paper; parchment or vellum, perhaps, and rolled into a scroll? How incredibly archaic. Sure, being able to levitate things was wonderful, but so were laserjet printers.  He was growing very weary with the inefficiencies of the Wizarding world. When he got Molly back, he’d have to see about modifying technology to not explode on contact with magic. He was willing to bet he could make a handsome profit.

“You’ve absolutely been Imperiused, but in a way we’ve never seen before.  It’s going to be…” Harry studied the scroll intently, eyes flicking to Jim once, “Very… interesting, figuring out how to break this.  The Department of Mysteries might get involved, if I can’t work it out. It looks like you also had trauma to your upper chest, close to your heart, but healed recently, imperfectly.  Miss Hooper’s doing, I presume.” Jim couldn’t stop his sharp, single nod. “You’ve also been Crucio’d in the past week, but sustained little damage. The mediwitch healed up some lasting nerve damage and a little bit of bruising of the brain tissue.  It looks like you may have been biologically tampered with in the recent past, which is maybe bad, but what is more interesting to us is your sudden shift from Muggle to Wizard.” He unrolled the parchment further. “Science in the Wizarding world is still sorely lacking, but more Muggleborns are making a difference.  In the past few years, it’s been theorized that…” He looked up suddenly, taking measure of the brilliant, highly dangerous, but strangely docile man in front of him. Jim flicked his fingers in a movement that said _continue_.  Harry rolled the parchment back up.  “Suffice to say, what magic you currently have in your system is being dampened.  You don’t have the right kind of biology to deal with it, you don’t have the right kinds of pathways or mental control over it for it to be anything close to safe.”

Harry leaned back, looking at Jim very intently.  “How did this happen, James Moriarty? How did you wind up here?”  Before Jim could answer, Harry looked startled. “Oh, no, I should clarify before the Veratiserum takes hold.  This is Azkaban. It’s-”

“I know what it is,” Jim spit out, “But why _am_ I here?”

Harry frowned, more sad than disappointed, “When you wanted to assist with the case, I agreed because I thought…”  He rubbed his forehead, “Honestly, I don’t know what I thought. Probably wasn’t, to be honest. It’s a habit of mine, or so I’m told.  Mr. Holmes has been helping us, we’re familiar with his brother, but you…” He trailed off, looking at Jim with something too close to pity.  “You’re more compromised than you know. The magic, the erratic behavior, the Imperius… this is the safest place for you right now, I think.”

Jim found he honestly couldn’t disagree.

 

* * *

 

Molly’s days blurred together into cycles of blindness and sight, the room where she slept and the rooms where she worked.  There was a pattern, every other cycle was a cycle of sleep, and she would get to go to the library for every two cycles in the lab.  She couldn’t really tell how much time a cycle was, only that she was getting nowhere near enough rest. Maybe four hours? She was getting tired, worn down, and it made her complicit.

For all of her time in the dreamspace, she hadn’t seen Jim.

She’d poured over his books, there were so many she still had piles she hadn’t touched, but the more the unread pile shrunk the more worried she got.  Was being halfway in a different dimension blocking his ability to get to her? Was he dead? Was he compromised?

Had he gotten bored?

A smaller part, the part that had been interested in the compression of time and space as a child watching science fiction, wondered if he had simply not fallen asleep again. If, for all the days were flying by for her here, not even one had gone by for him.  There had been a movie she’d seen in theatres recently, an American one about space travel, where half the crew had gone onto a planet near a black hole. It had been minutes for them, but by the time they’d gotten back to the ship, nearly forty years had passed off-world.  She replaced the aged face of the remaining crewmate with her own, and Jim’s would still be fresh, young and smooth… The movie hadn’t ended well for the crew.

She couldn’t bear to obsess over him any longer, so instead she threw herself into understanding what exactly Elizabeth Simple was doing.  What it was she had created. It involved catching up on the past five years of magical research, done using modern scientific methods, and in any other scenario, Molly would be _fascinated_ by it. She had a hard time comprehending about half of what was in front of her, but she found a few reference texts and heavy medical dictionaries that she could keep close at hand.

Muggleborn scientists were getting very, very close to finding the specific sequence of chromosomes that separated people who could wield magic from people who could not.  In the future, it could determine if gene therapy could be offered to families with squibs, or even improve the magical abilities of any witch or wizard through genetic manipulation and enhancement.  Molly, however, had taken not a single class on relevant topics in college, and found herself struggling to follow a lot of the more technical material. The reference books she’d found were helpful, but not enough.  They were broad, general texts, and she needed extremely specific ones. She thought about asking for journals, or other academic papers, but decided she’d rather not know. The less she was able to comprehend, the less useful she would be.

Molly strongly suspected that the next Muggle topic the Wizarding world needed to be introduced to was ‘bioethics’ to explain why manipulating genetic material was a morally grey area that was often darker than it was lighter.  If she had to stay in this world, maybe she could be the one to introduce it. She might even have to call for a hearing of the Wizengamot. The research was interesting academically, but very dangerous in practice. She lost herself, for a cycle, in a daydream of becoming a recognized master of this material, taking on apprentices, being invited to lecture at Hogwarts to the seventh-years, and coming home at the end of the day to Jim, who-

The daydream ended there, because she couldn’t picture a Jim out from under the Imperius who would still be interested in her in any way close to sane.  A happy Jim, cooking dinner, content to make their home? Impossible. The thought was so out of character that her mind rejected it immediately. It would be more likely to come home to a Jim who was either relaxed from a job well done that she wouldn’t want to know about, or a composed, cool Jim in the middle of planning something she also didn’t want to know about.  He would ask for her magic in ways she couldn’t give it, and from there…

She shoved the thought, the daydream and all of it, into a box, and then put that box in another box, and shoved the thought as far back in her mind as she could force it.  She threw herself into researching the artificial manipulation of the nucleotides in chromosomes and the failures and success that had happened in the field to date. At least, as up to date as her documentation was, which was an undetermined amount of years behind.

The library was her favorite place, walls of books and reams of parchment, a fireplace that Molly learned was for show the first time she tried to burn her notes.  The fire had crackled merrily and licked around the edges of the parchment, but the paper hadn’t even smoldered. There was a comfortable green armchair and a long oak table reminiscent of Hogwarts.  She found it to be the perfect place to lay out a study session, books and parchment and notes of her predecessor, who was never identified by name. The witch or wizard before her had, she appreciated, tried to be as vague as possible, and even strongly misleading in some places.  Her base of knowledge was enough that she automatically corrected the deliberate mistakes as she read, but she felt strong solidarity with this mystery researcher. They’d both been forced into this position, and they were trying, together, to delay whatever Elizabeth Simple’s plan was.  Even if they were probably long dead, she felt as if they were staring at her from the past, telling her to keep this from happening for as long as possible. Her robes often shifted to ruby red or deep forest green when she finally relaxed into the old rhythm of studying.

The lab was a gleaming, sterile room, full of beautiful blown glass beakers, vials and instruments, large pieces of expensive modern equipment, and acres of white walls and white linoleum floors.  Lots of long benches, a mix of cauldrons in with the beakers, potions ingredients next to colorful containers of common chemicals she would use on a daily basis back at St. Bart’s. Her robes swung between lab coat white and student robe black in this room.  She had access to all of the doors, supply closets and storage rooms, except for one. A door that looked more like it belonged on a safe in a bank than a lab in the hospital. Heavy steel, with a complex lock and a handle that you had to rotate with both hands to open.  She tried to do a wandless _Alohamora_ and had gotten rebuked with a minor stinging hex that had lasted two hours.

As she spent more time in both, the rhythm of it became normal.

It had been at least forty cycles before Elizabeth accompanied Molly into the lab, having decided without warning that Molly had been given enough time to catch up, and it was time for her to begin her practical application of the theory.  She pulled out a complex looking key, having multiple blades with impossible looking teeth that shouldn’t have fit in the lock but did, and intoned a chant in a language Molly didn’t know over the door, which unlocked loudly and swung open.

It was a morgue.  Large, with more drawers than hers at St Bart’s, and three large tables for autopsies.  Everything was shiny steel, and Molly felt a professional thrill go up her spine for the beauty of the set up.  She tried to brush it off, but she was already itching to pull out a body and start to work.

“These are bodies that had… unfavorable reactions to the experiments.”  Elizabeth smiled blandly at her. “I want you to figure out what went wrong in each one.”  As if she’d been siluced with freezing water, Molly’s excitement vanished. Of course. She was here to do a job.  Post mortems, her speciality.

Molly hesitated, then spoke up, “You… know I’m not a geneticist, right?  It sounds like that’s what you’re- That’s not my… not my field.” She forced herself to stand up straighter.

Elizabeth shrugged and leaned against the door.  “You’ll figure it out.” She pushed off lazily and stepped closer, circling Molly.  The edges of her robe started to darken in fear. “I’ll give you some motivation.” She brushed even closer.  “We had a compound developed recently, after these… failures.” She swept a hand toward the lines of drawers, each one presumably filled with a body.  “We combined our research with the solution and _guess_ who was our very first trial?”  She gave Molly a knife-like grin.  Her stomach dropped out from under her.

_“Oh, about that,” He casually put his hands back in his pockets.  “I do. I hit Harry Potter with a Stupefy. It was… It felt strange.”  He got a far away look in his eye and his wand materialized in his hand.  He waved it and strange, irregular sparkles shot out._

“No.”  She whispered.

“You’ve figured it out already!”  Elizabeth looked proud, like a parent whose child had just said their first word.  “Oh Molly, you are so terribly clever. Terribly, beautifully clever.” She cocked her head to the side and grinned, “That’s right.  Mr. Moriarty imbibed the compound, along with a healthy dose of Earl Grey. All he needed was a catalyst. Proximity to someone with such _potent_ magic.”  She ran one hand down Molly’s hair that she’d pulled back to a severe plait at the start of that cycle, winding the end of the braid around her fist.  She jerked her arm down, forcing Molly’s head to bend back painfully. Elizabeth looked _insane_ , her eyes fever-bright and her lips curled back into a grin that mostly snarled, “All he needed was _you_.”

Her breath smelled sour, and Molly blinked rapidly, her breathing going fast and shallow.

She dropped the braid and stepped back.  Molly felt the blood rush out of her face and stared into the morgue, eyes unseeing.  She had to start working, and she had to do it _now._

Elizabeth’s low, slightly menacing laughter followed her into the morgue as she opened the first door and slid the drawer out almost violently.

 

* * *

 

Harry left Jim after about ten minutes of awkward silence, but as he was striding toward the hole in the wall, Jim opened his mouth.  He closed it, abruptly, his teeth clicking together.

Harry paused, brows furrowed, turned his head a quarter and cautiously asked, “Was there anything else, Mr. Moriarty?”

He sucked his teeth for a minute, hesitant to give this man another hold over him, but he was in over his head as it was.  “Molly Hooper and I share a dreamspace. That’s what she called it.”

Harry turned fully around.  “Yes, you’ve mentioned it. It’s not completely unheard of, but we have more pressing matters to take care of first.”

He bounced one leg, silver chain jingling faintly.  The sound reminded him of _her_.  “I haven’t been able to access it since I’ve been here.”  Harry looked at him blankly. “I haven’t been able to see her,” he clarified.  “I need to see Molly Hooper.” He looked uncomfortable. He _needed_ it.  “The curse, in my head, the Imperial-”

“ _Imperius_.”  Harry automatically corrected.

“It makes me…” He ignored Harry, drawing his hand to his chest, rubbing over his heart.  He looked away, his leg bouncing harder. Visibly agitated. “Why can’t I go there?”

“We added a spell to dampen your magic to those chains,” Harry started, thoughtfully, “that might-”

“Take it off,” Jim demanded immediately.  “Even if it’s just when I sleep. Take it off.”  He felt the magic stir, slow as cold honey, thick under his skin.  It wanted to be let out, it wanted to be _free_ , to be _used_.  At the thought of seeing Molly Hooper, the curse narrowed his focus and released a modicum of the discomfort.

Harry sucked on his teeth for a second, before taking out his wand and nodded, “Alright. This is going to be tricky.  I’m going to need you to recline.”

Automatically, Jim laid flat on his back.

Harry said, “I”m going to put you to sleep artificially.  When I’m done, I’ll wake you back up.”

Jim closed his eyes just as the magic washed over him, and he fell asleep gratefully.

 

* * *

 

Molly was frantically pouring over the books in the dreamspace, throwing them haphazardly around, hissing, “Binders, binders, I need _chemical_ binders!”

One of the books hit Jim Moriarty square in the chest as he softly popped into existence.

“Ow.” He deadpanned, reaching down to pick up his book on all of his boyhood memories of chemistry.  It was bound in soft, dunn-colored cloth and had his name scrawled childishly on the front in ballpoint pen.

Molly whirled around, her robes flushing between yellow and pink, “ _Jim!”_ She launched herself at him, pulling his head down to her, frantically kissing him.  He returned her kisses, winding his hands in her hair and forcing her to slow down, guiding her into a rhythm.  She opened under him like a flower under the first flush of morning, hungry to the point of greed. They seperated, panting heavily, Molly running her hands through his hair and over his shoulders.

“Jim,” she muttered, “It’s been so long, where did you _go?_ ”

He furrowed his brow, “It’s been a day, maybe two, since I’ve seen you last, hasn’t it?”

She looked pained and froze, her eyes darting back and forth.  Her worst fear, that time was compressing for her, shoving weeks and months into hours and days, was realized.  She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and she whispered, “She has me somewhere between space and time, I think, it’s been… much longer for me.”  Molly suddenly felt herself tense with fear. “Please don’t go,” she choked out, eyes shining as they welled with tears. If he left, now, it could be weeks before she saw him again.

“Harry Potter put dampening spells on my weird magic that was keeping me from coming here.  That I’m here must mean he’s seconds from waking me up.” He grabbed her upper arms, “I’ll tell him to put me right back under, I swear.  Tell me everything you can. What do you mean ‘between space and time’?”

She started to feel the first frantic strains of hysteria, “It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it, Jim, it’s an entire floor of a medical facility, but she… she _took_ it and put it somewhere _else._  If it’s been two days for you, God, Jim, for me, it’s been… it’s been _weeks_ and oh, OH, Jim,” she ran her hands down his front and around his waist, “You…” a tear slid down her face, “You… you’ve been… _experimented_ on.”  He froze.  “That’s why you can wield magic, because she gave you… something.  She said she had some kind of chemical binder developed, and she put it in your _tea_ -”

_You’ve been compromised in more ways than one._

His voice was strange, “A chemical binder.  Tasteless, odorless, completely benign.” His face was like ice, “Capable of successfully carrying a new type of gene, one that had corrupted every other type, and-”

“-flexible enough to isolate the gene and capable of time release.”

A dim sort of horror started to show on his face.  “I developed it. I thought it was for an academic Saudi prince with a healthy ... ”  He looked down at her. “I made it.” He gave a maniacal, high pitched laugh and looked over her shoulder, the tip of his tongue sneaking out from between his teeth as his upper lip drew up in a sneer.  His face transformed into the vicious Moriarty who was realizing he hadn’t just been double-crossed but _triple_ -crossed.

In any other situation, Molly would have run away from the fearful entity growing before her.  In the dreamspace, in their minds, there was nowhere to go, so she changed the subject.

“When you wake up, you have to tell someone.  I… you have to tell Harry.” She looked desperate, “Ask him where banished objects go.  I think it might be related.” She wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face in his chest.  “Hold out your hand, Jim. Make me a book. We don’t have _time._ ”

“Chemical binder 8-JX450.  All I have, I bequeath to you.”  He held out his hand and a file formed, plain manila labeled with expensive ink, tidy block letters.  It was full of charts, labs, scientific write-ups, and… comprehensive reports of live human experimentation.  She was horrified but found that she couldn’t must up any amount of surprise. Jim was ruthless and thorough.  She moved her eyes away from a report with ‘vivisection’ in the title.

“Molly,” he called softly, his eyes suddenly intense, “If I never see you again, if this thing kills me, I want to let you know that you’re one of the most interesting people in my life since Sherlock. I-”

She put a hand against his lips, stilling him, but also feeling their softness against her fingers.  She pressed her fingertips against them lightly, and he flicked his tongue out, tasting her. She smiled at him out of reflex, “Flirt.”  Something passed between them, and her hand fell away. She swallowed, opened her mouth, then closed it again. He moved his tongue in his mouth, like he was tasting what he wanted to say, and she gave him a sad little smile, “I feel the same way,” she whispered.  His eyes grew darker and he fluttered them shut, sighing gently.

He leaned in to kiss her softly but vanished right before their lips touched.

She grimaced at the hole in the air where he used to be, fighting back tears.  Her hands clutched uselessly at where his face had been. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and took in a deep, measured breath.

She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve, “I’ll save your life, Jim Moriarty.  Even if I never get to see you again.” She picked up the file, flipped it open and folded herself down to sit on the carpet.  Her back pressed against the couch and she wished, painfully, for Toby. His soft, dense fur, the healing sound of his purr, his warm body pressed up against hers.

But he wasn’t here, and neither was anyone else.

There was only Molly and a file full of damning secrets.

 

* * *

 

Toby perked up one soft ear from his position in Mrs. Hudson’s lap.  The old woman had taken him in without complaint, and in return, he purred when her joints were aching and caught the mice the tried to scurry around the pantry.

But something shifted in the universe.  Something was calling for him, something that felt like Molly.

He shifted his weight to get up and inspect the apartment, but Mrs. Hudson scratched his favorite spot at the base of his tail and he settled back down.

Even if she did need him, he was only a familiar with no magic of his own.  The most he could do was stay here and guard the premises and people that she adored.

Fitfully, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Jim’s eyes flew open and without even checking to see if Harry was still there, Jim blurted out, “Where do banished objects go?”

Silence, then a heartbeat later, “What?”

Jim sat up.  “The spell worked.  I saw her. She said…” He swallowed, chest suddenly strangely tight, “That Polecat had taken her to an ‘in-between place’.  Somewhere that related to where banished objects go. She said to ask you.”

Harry blinked at him from his seat at the bedside, “I… I don’t know.  That’s not really my…” to himself, he muttered, “I knew I should have brought Hermione.”  He focused on Jim again, “I’ll find out. Did she say anything else?”

Jim was quiet for a minute.  “In the report the witch doctor-”

“Mediwitch,” Harry automatically corrected.

“Whatever,” Jim shot him an annoyed look, “The report mentioned ‘biological alterations’, right?  Well, turns out it was _her_.”  He looked downright murderous, and Harry slid his chair back.  “Bitch _triple-_ crossed me.  How many people could she possibly pretend to be?  Saudi prince, Polecat, who else?” He caught Harry’s confused look, and explained, “I developed the solution that made it possible for…” He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers, “magic.  In me. Still not sure how she did it, but she paid me to help make it happen.” He scratched his cheek and furrowed his brow, gaze sliding to his little window, “I’m impressed, honestly. I wonder if she’s looking for work.”

Harry couldn’t figure out the best reaction to give this strange, dangerous man.  He settled for a quiet, “I’m going to bring some people back here, to give you a more thorough checkup.”  He stood up, leaving the leather armchair.

“Hurry, darling.  My little dove is in a place where time works differently.  It’s been…” He frowned, “How many days have I been in here?”

“Ah.  Three?”  Harry put his hands in his pockets, surreptitiously gripping his wand.

“Right.  It’s been weeks for her.”  At Harry’s sudden gasp, he blinked rapidly, “Oh, that must be as bad as she thought it was. I was really hoping she overreacted.”  He clucked his tongue.

Harry ran to the entry into the cell, turning back to Jim, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.  I need to contact a few specialists. This is… this is bad.” He started walking through and paused halfway through, “If you manage to fall asleep again, talk to her.  Try to get any kind of information.”

Then he was gone, and the wall closed up behind him.

Another bowl of soup and a half of a sandwich appeared on his table, and Jim threw it violently toward the window.  “Stupid wizards and their stupid delicious drugged food.” He yelled at nothing in particular, “I’ll take an order of anything _without_ any kind of magic potion.”

A fresh soup, a different color, and a thick slice of dark bread appeared on his desk.

Grumbling, he stood up, the chain jingling merrily, and sat down in the chair.  It scooted itself back in, and he picked up the fragrant, dense bread and dipped it into the ham and pea soup.

It was divine.  He hated it.

Jim finished the entire meal, but he did it resentfully.

Afterward, he laid down and forced himself to relax.  In his line of work, being able to sleep on command was a helpful skill.  He ran through his list of mental exercises, focusing on the desire to be in the dreamspace again.  He relaxed his entire body, from his toes all the way up to the crown of his head. He closed his eyes and evened out his breathing, feeling his consciousness drift away.

When he opened his eyes, he was in the little house.  Amber sunlight streamed in through the windows, and a fire crackled merrily in the hearth.  The file was set neatly on the table, a half-finished list of notes on top of it, and Molly was nowhere to be seen.

He settled himself neatly on the couch, holding out his hand, and concentrated.  He was determined to make a new stack of memories for Molly to sift through. The highest measure of his esteem was his knowledge, and he was going to give her everything he had.

Pausing, he set down the book on his boyhood understanding of particle physics and concentrated with a smirk on his face.  The neon red book that formed was a detailed account of everything he’d like to do to her when they met again in person. Two chapters were devoted to despoiling Sherlock’s sheets, and four chapters featured Molly holding the end of his leash and wearing deliciously high heels.  He grinned wickedly.

Roses were for beginners.  The best gift of intention, in his opinion, was explicit erotica.

He left it neatly on top of her notes, the golden curly-cue ‘M’ emblazoned on the cover.

Then, he summoned every replicated schoolbook Molly Hooper had put into her mind palace and started to research what his new powers were possibly capable of.  No guarantee things would work, he understood more than anyone what experimental technology was capable of, the chief of which was exploding. He could try this simple sounding one, _Alohamora_ , but instead of unlocking a door it could possibly turn it into a wall of venomous snakes.

A plain door appeared in front of him with no prompting.  White, minimal decoration, a small knocker, and a peephole, with a single brass knob and a matching deadbolt.

The deadbolt slid into a locked position with a heavy sound, and the door waited.

Was this place, some part of Molly Hooper or even some sentient soul of magic, _testing_ him?

He pulled out his wand, palming it thoughtfully, and practiced the motion outlined in the book four times before softly incanting, “ _Alohamora._ ”

The deadbolt slid back into an unlocked position.  He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot is so thick it could be molasses. Did you like it? Leave me a comment and let me know!


	21. Levicorpus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been nearly four months since I last updated, I think. I apologize for the wait, and I hope this small update helps in any way.

A long time ago, before Molly had heard of Voldemort or Death Eaters or blood purity, there had been a boy.  A boy with dark hair, darker eyes and a cute smile.

A boy that had wanted to kiss her, but had never gotten a chance.

Long after Molly had been hunted by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and had been made entirely too aware of how unclean her blood was, there had been a man.  A man with dark hair, darker eyes and a smile like broken glass.

A man that had kissed her, for a time, as often as she had wanted him to.

In the dark, her eyes open but unseeing, Molly contemplated the fate of those two men.  In hindsight, she could have easily imagined herself in a cottage with Jacob, warm kisses on cold mornings and a happy child or two bundled into their arms on Christmas Eve.  But he’d now been a corpse for longer than he’d loved her, that that dream was gone in the ground with him.

She couldn’t imagine any kind of happy future with Jim at all.   She couldn’t imagine Jim cuddling a small, dark-haired babe while he devised murderous plots.  Couldn’t imagine him smiling at her softly in the morning light, stark silver collar reflecting her own face back at her.  She couldn’t imagine an old Jim Moriarty at all. Aging was for someone else, someone who was more man than insane energy. She could only imagine being on the run, forced cooperation through fear and necessity.  She realized, with a pang, that every encounter they’d had since Jim from IT been tainted by the Imperius. Once he shook that off, she’d be alone again. He’d realize how plain, ordinary, and unworthy she was, and he would go.

Molly leaned her head back against the wall, closing her useless eyes and concentrating instead on the magic swirling inside of her.

At least she would always, always have that.

Always.  Even though Elizabeth had taken her wand, she couldn’t rip the magic out of her very bones.

She fought the tears that were welling up, fought the helplessness, fought the terrible, aching loneliness that threatened to cut straight through her.  She toppled when the realization that her education was failing her, that she didn’t know nearly enough about genetics and gene therapy, magical medicine or even the grounds to properly research it, to make hardly any headway in her race to satisfy Elizabeth’s demands and her own agenda of saving Jim Moriarty’s life.

Elizabeth had started to look disappointed every time she saw her, and Molly had been given more cycles in her room than out for the past week.  That frightened her, but wasn’t it noble to die to prevent Elizabeth from unleashing this unstable experiment on the world? Wasn’t it brave to taunt Elizabeth into killing her for her ignorance?

Wasn’t it better for Jim to die than be allowed back into the Muggle world?

She couldn’t let herself forget that he was a consulting criminal, that he was not a good man, that he had killed and would kill again, with very little discretion.  He was… he wasn’t really evil, not the way Voldemort had been, but he was chaotic. He would have, he  _ had _ , supported Elizabeth Simple’s plans as part of his business model.  He’d  _ profited _ from it.  She had to confront the idea that she was attached to someone with barely any kind of moral code, and certainly not one that fit the standard mold, or even mimicked her own.

A wet, ragged cry ripped itself out her throat as she clutched the space above her heart, the organ twisting itself into knots with the realization that she didn't  _ care _ .  She didn’t care  _ at all _ .

Molly Hooper loved James Moriarty, and he was going to die because she wasn’t good enough to save him.

She cried then; deep, aching sobs that hurt her chest and robbed her of breath.  She cried for her own stupid heart, for the loss of a man that only she would miss, and for what she was sure was the end of her own short, disappointing life.  She cried until she couldn’t breathe at all, and then she just gasped as tears ran down her cheeks. Her throat was raw, painful, and her tongue swollen in her mouth.  Her face felt puffy and raw, her eyes stinging and sensitive.

She forced herself to fall asleep, willing herself to not appear in the dreamspace.

She failed, just like she did with everything else.

 

* * *

 

She laid on the floor of the dreamspace quietly, eyes closed, waiting to wake up.  She didn’t want to look at any of the books, flick through Jim’s memories, or review her own.

All of her autopsies had presented masses growing incongruently.  Brain, heart, liver, lungs, bones, almost always with other organs infected as well. The lumps of tissue looked like normal tumors, what she would expect after a stage four cancer diagnosis.  Cells that had split, mutated and turned in on themselves.

Elizabeth hadn’t listened when she said she didn’t look down to the molecular level.  She went to cells, sometimes, if the need was dire, but she’d never looked much deeper than that.  She wasn’t a geneticist, but Elizabeth didn’t seem to understand the difference, or the amount of schooling she would need to endure to do what she wanted her to do.  The older woman thought she could just  _ figure it out _ , like when they were at school and the texts had left empty holes, prompting her to connect the dots.  Like this was something that didn’t take a  _ decade _ to gain a specialty in.

So when she’d presented her findings, that all of the patients had died of a combination of cancerous and benign tumors destroying vital organs, Elizabeth had nodded and asked what else.

She hadn’t been pleased with Molly’s answer of ‘That’s what killed them.  That’s it.’

For the first time, Molly had been afraid that she was going to be tortured.  She didn’t have a wand, not anymore, but she’d held her magic close under the skin when she saw the look on the madwoman’s face.

She’d only been allowed in the library and lab a handful of times since then.

Elizabeth was no longer a rational person.  She couldn’t be swayed by facts or findings, and having her deep faith in her own over-estimation of Molly’s abilities pulled out from under her had fractured something in her mind.

She was in the middle of musing how Elizabeth would end her when Jim appeared.

He stood over her for a minute, and she closed her eyes, willing him to leave her alone.

“You didn’t touch my present,” his voice was pouting playfully, trying to get a reaction out of her.  She sniffled and curled further into a ball. If she looked at him, she’d start crying again, she just knew it.

“Sorry, Jim.”  Even here, her voice was rough with tears.

He stood over her silently, and she felt his disappoint like a heavy, physical thing.  She let it press her further into the ground. “It’s been another week, hasn’t it?” He murmured.  It had been hardly any time at all for him, less than a day since he’d popped in to make her all the books, but she looked… broken.

She shook her head, “Longer, this time.  I can’t… I don’t understand how time works there, anymore.  I thought it was a week there to day for you, but now I think it just does what it wants.”

He sucked on his teeth. “How bad is it?”  He reached up to smooth his hand through his hair and stopped.  His collar had changed, the chain looping fluidly like it had in the prison.  He waved his arm in the air, mesmerized by the sound.

Molly looked up, catching the graceful lines of the chain, and her eyes narrowed, “Who did that to you?”

He shrugged artlessly, “Not sure.  Apparently, Harry Potter has been bringing in consultants when I’m  _ safely asleep _ .”  He leered at her, relashing in the fear for a moment.  His face schooled itself into neutrality at her expression.  She looked gutted.

“That’s my fault.”  She took in the circular path of the chain that bound him wrist to ankle, ankle to ankle, then ankle to wrist.  Both ends looping back to the transformed revolver at his neck. That collar had felt like a death sentence when she’d sealed it on him, and he reached up to smooth his fingertips over it now.

“No, it was your decision to keep yourself safe.”  He frowned again, “Don’t act like you did it for fun when I absolutely would have murdered you back at that little house if I could have.”

She snorted and sat up, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Just trying to rip down that strange candy floss idol you seem to keep constructing of me,” he didn’t reach down to help her up.  “At this point, if I tried to kill you I’d be extremely disappointed if you didn’t zap me with one of your little spells.” She leaned back against the couch and he sat down elegantly beside her.

She gave him a tight smile, “I couldn’t even if I tried.  Elizabeth took my wand.” She shrugged, “I don’t know how to cast larger spells without it.”

Jim raised his eyebrow, “And how is this madwoman expecting you to do anything of note without a  _ wand _ ?”  His voice was flat and unimpressed.  He respected the game, he respected puzzles, he respected riddles, but Jim absolutely did not respect when an opponent was set up to fail.  He had his own code, and it said that if someone was given a fair chance to beat him, then victory would be all the sweeter when they didn’t.  A victory handed to him on a silver platter by  _ cheating _ was a hollow, false thing.  Jim frowned furiously at the pile of books in front of him.

“Isn’t it ironic,” Molly said slowly, “That I left the Wizarding world behind to perform post mortems, and now that I have all the time in world to do them, I need magic for it and I’m not allowed?”  She giggled a little maniacally, but Jim didn’t find it quite so funny.

“Tell me,” he didn’t look away.

She sighed and related all of the events between the last time she’d seen him and now.  His hand crept toward her unconsciously, resting on her ankle and then her knee. His thumb worked circles over the complex joint as she finished her clinical analysis.  “...and that’s it.” She shrugged. “They’re just tumors. Growths. I can’t find anything different about them from a normal Muggle tumor at all. Granted, I’m missing a wide variety of equipment I could use to perform specialized testing, but at this point I don’t think it matters.”  She looked down and fisted her hands in her lap, her robes bleeding to a sad greyish blue, muttering, “I’ve disappointed her too badly for her to take me seriously again.”

“Why don’t you ask her what she’s looking for?”  Jim had slid closer to her, pressing his thigh against hers.  His forearm laid comfortably on her leg as his thumb continued caressing her knee.  “One of the first rules of negotiating with Dear Jim is telling him what effect you want to achieve, not how you want to achieve it.  What is the end goal, not the roundabout way to get there.” He gestured grandly with his free hand, as if conveying the world laid before her.

“Liar,” she whispered with a smile, “The first rule is opening their checkbook.”

He turned to her with a glimmer of amusement in his eye.  “How quickly you learn, poppet.” He pressed his lips to her temple momentarily.  “Fine, then that’s the second rule. Pay me, then tell me what you want to happen.”  He leaned back against the couch. “There’s a reason they come to me, same as there’s a reason Elizabeth came to you.”  His eyes roamed over the piles of books and memories in the small room. “She still needs you for something. You have to find out what.”  He looked at her seriously. “You need to start thinking like me, Molly.”

She turned her head and looked as his face, his tapered chin and large eyes.  His long, thin eyebrows that flew in a graceful arc. The little wrinkles that had collected around his eyes, a lifetime of stress written in the folds.  The stubble that was growing on his cheeks and jaw, testament to his lack of comfort. Her gaze landed on his mouth, roving over the slightly dry skin and the little peek of tongue that darted out.  Her eyes didn’t dilate like he was hoping, and the edges pulled down in a cute frown.

“You’re a dead man, Jim Moriarty,” her view blurred behind the tears, “You’re a dead man and I’m the one that’s killed you.”

He flopped back, gripping her knee uncomfortably while he stared at the ceiling, “Miss Molly.  Stop.  Really, if I have to kill a gaggle of grandmothers for you to cease acting this way then I will.  How could you possibly have killed me? Are you secretly the chemist who developed the binder? Are you the witch who developed the gene?  The researcher? The person bankrolling it? No. You’re none of those things.” He looked at her, eyes hard, “You’re the most innocent person in this entire mess, and if I die because of some kind of terrible tumor then it’s absolutely the fault of Elizabeth Simple. And,” he grimaced and got a sour look on his face, “myself.  It’ll be my own fault that I’m dead.”

She didn’t agree or disagree with him.  She stayed unnervingly silent, so Jim filled the space between them with words.

“You barely tortured me, and you didn’t do it for fun.  You did it to send a message, to tell me that you had power and you weren’t afraid to use it.  You took care of me when you’d injured me, healed my wounds and forced me to eat. You could have abandoned me to the wolves, to Polecat, any time you chose, but you left me with  _ Sherlock _ .  Sherlock, who is currently working with Harry Potter and company to find  _ you _ , or has had his mind wiped and is back at Baker Street wanking to a bag of thumbs.”  She gave a soft smile at that.

He reached over and cupped her chin with his hand.  “You didn’t. Even if Elizabeth tried to get to you through me, which is a  _ really _ strange way to go about it, then that’s my fault for putting you at risk at all.”  He leaned in. “I just can’t help myself when it comes to you, Molly Hooper.” He closed to distance and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, slanting his head just enough to lock their mouths together.

She should pull back. She should push him away and tell him that it was the Imperius.  He was still under Polecat’s orders, as far as she knew, and it was the reason he was doing this.  If he was dying, he shouldn’t be forced to…

Then he slipped his tongue inside of her mouth and she moaned.

He put his clever fingers between her thighs and she stopped thinking at all.

He unwrapped her slowly, like a gift, and worshipped every inch of her.  She pushed his robes off with a little more haste, and he smiled at her eagerness.

Afterwards, when they lay tangled together, he held his mouth on the arch of her cheekbone in an exhausted parody of a kiss.

She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to him.  “Can I examine you?”

He leered at her, “I’d say you just did a  _ very _ thorough one, but if you feel the need to go again…” he slipped his hand up her side, running his fingers over her ribs before palming one breast.

Molly arched her back a little even as she rolled her eyes.  “If this body is representative of your own physical body, I’m wondering if I can find any abnormalities.  I think we’re both just magical constructs, but-”

Jim hummed his agreement around her nipple as he drew it into his mouth, scraping it with his teeth and teasing it with the tip of his tongue.  She bit off her sentence with a moan, hands going to his hair, tugging him up into another kiss.

Waving one hand in the small space between them while he devoured her, golden sparkles shooting out of her fingertips, and he flopped onto his back with a sigh.  “If you must, Doctor Hooper,” he pouted. “At least you  _ asked _ this time.”

She cringed a little, but gave him a small smile, “Sorry about that, but you have to admit it was useful.”  She turned her attention to his torso, and sighed. “This, however, is not. Our forms are just magical representations of who we think we are.  There’s nothing here, including things I KNOW should be.” She dismissed the spell with an angry slash of her hand and flopped down on top of him.  His arm went automatically around her shoulders and she wiggled to fit neatly against his side.

She reached up with one hand to slowly trace the perfect edge of his collar with her fingertips.

“What is she doing with the corpses?” he asked abruptly, startling her.

She paused, her fingers just below his ear, staring at the line stubble on his jaw.  “After I’m done with them, I slide them back in the drawer. Last time I checked, most of them were gone.  I’m assuming she Banished them, or there's a charm on the drawer like a Vanishing Cabinet.”

His fingers started tapping a pattern into the joint of her shoulder.  “What can you do with a corpse? With magic?”

Molly swallowed and felt a leaden fear start to curl into her belly, “You can do a lot of things.  None of them good.  It's considered very Dark magic, very taboo.” Her memory leaned toward the twisted forms of Inferni, glimpsed during the war, recognized from Snape, he’d shoved the information in their heads as fast as they could process during that one year he was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Where had Elizabeth been taking those corpses?

Why hadn’t she gotten rid of Molly yet?

“What’s different,” he said, his mind racing, “about those tumors?”  His fingers were tracing words, plans, pictures into her skin, and she stayed still against him.

“I don’t know,” she responded softly.

“Find out,” he snapped, hand gripping her shoulder tight enough to bruise.  “You have the time, Molly Hooper, get her to trust you again and find  _ something _ interesting in one of those bodies before she takes them all and adds you to the pile.”

She agreed softly, suddenly, brokenly, hatefully glad to have been told what to do, before she was yanked from his arms rudely, someone shaking her awake on the other side.

He laid awake for a long time after that, staring at the space she’d once occupied, mind whirring with everything he thought magic could do with a dead body, every single sick, twisted thing his mind could conjure, before he remembered he was in a space that was essentially a library.  He stared at the towers of books around him.

Feeling the thrum of magic wake in his veins, he cleared his throat firmly, “Right.  Bring me everything that has to do with magic and corpses.”

Immediately, the stacks started to rearranged themselves, a dozen books floating toward him.  He smiled grimly, “Let’s get to work, mind of Molly Hooper.” The room pulsed, once, and it felt like she was there, embracing him.

He opened the first book and set to studying.  He didn't even bother getting dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been stuck in a rut, trying out different fandoms and dealing with real life, real job, and a smattering of depression. I have the plot for this story all filled out, and I think it would make me quite pleased to finish it, so I'll really try to get it done. Thank you everyone for following along, I really, really appreciate it. <3 <3


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